


scrapped brallon

by regionals



Series: scrapped works [1]
Category: I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band), Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Abuse, Dom/sub, Drug Addiction, Eating Disorders, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Omegaverse, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships, Zombie Apocalypse, also i used to take my emotional problems out on brendon urie tis fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 02:27:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 54,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17438162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regionals/pseuds/regionals
Summary: some fics from my scrapped folder that i never finished. i don't write for brallon anymore but i wrote a lot of stuff that i never published for them. oops.





	1. Chapter 1

**premise:** based on 100 letters by halsey.

*

Dallon meets Brendon at a house party when they're both nineteen. Dallon already knows who Brendon is--resident bad boy stoner, the guy who ran through the senior hall naked, then ran three miles home, the guy who stole Mrs. Wheeler's car and trashed it without even getting caught, the guy who's dated every single girl in the school, and damn near every guy as well. Brendon Urie is a wet dream and if you asked Dallon, he'd vehemently deny the fact that he feels anything for Brendon.

It's not true, of course. _Everyone_ loves Brendon, even the people who claim to hate him, and Dallon's one of those people. He's standing off to the side, drinking from a solo cup of some drink that was being served at the party, when Brendon saunters up to him, and slams a hand down on the wall next to his head. Despite Brendon being a good half a foot shorter than him, Dallon still feels small, staring down into the boy's brown eyes, and quietly asking, "Can I help you...?"

"Yeah, actually," he starts with a smarmy little smirk on his face, eyes narrowed just a touch, enough to make him look mysterious and enchanting. Dallon can hear his heart in his ears, and can feel the blush creeping up his neck and lighting his face up. "Do you wanna get out of here?"

"Um," Dallon knows he sounds dumb, and he know he looks like an idiot with his jaw dropped open like this and his eyebrows so far up his forehead but he doesn't know what else to say. Brendon fucking Urie is propositioning him. "Why me?" That sounds good and not as dumb as Dallon thought it would.

"You're the cutest guy here. Duh." Brendon's smirk drops so his expression matches his words. "Anyways, I recognize you from biology last year. I don't recognize anyone else."

 _Oh._ "I--I guess so, then. I'd be flattered to get out of here with you."

"Good."

\---

"Are you a virgin?" is the first thing Brendon asks him when they're alone in Brendon's bedroom, which is in Brendon's tiny studio apartment.

Dallon lies through his teeth, not wanting to seem lame, and also not wanting to let Brendon know he is, in fact, a virgin. "No. I haven't been one since I was fifteen."

"Ooh. You started early." Brendon chuckles, and Dallon swears he's some weird, enchanting angel, or something like that, given the way he so _smoothly_ walks over to him, and throws his arms over Dallon's shoulders, crashing their lips together in a beautiful way.

Dallon's kissed a few girls, and he's made out with his best friend once before, so he's not too caught off guard by the sudden kiss, but it _is_ still a little jarring to be kissed by the guy you've had a crush on for the past four years.

At nineteen, Dallon would describe the feeling of Brendon's hands pressed flat against chest, fingers splayed over his pecs, as he rode him into the mattress, as gratifying, and as if an angel were blessing him, cleansing him of his sins, even though Brendon's reputation is very much that of someone who is _not_ an angel.

\---

A week after losing his virginity Dallon finds himself lying on the floor of Spencer Smith's bedroom, staring up at the ceiling, with one hand on his stomach, and the other behind his head. Spencer pretty much just ignores him, opting to work on an essay due in one of his college classes the next day, at least until he notices it's been an _hour_ and Dallon hasn't said _anything._ (Dallon's a bit of a chatterbox if he's comfortable. Anyone close to him would know that.)

"Hey, twig-leg, what's up with you?" Spencer's spinning in his desk chair, and throwing a pencil eraser at Dallon, hitting him in the shoulder.

Dallon throws the eraser back, pelting Spencer right in the forehead, and says, "I had sex with Brendon Urie last week."

"Pardon? I'm not quite sure I heard you right."

"I said that _last week_ I had _sex_ with Brendon Urie." Dallon swallows nervously, and takes a deep breath before continuing his staring contest with the ceiling. "My first time having sex was with Brendon Urie in his bedroom, and it was... pretty great."

"Dallon, he doesn't fuck virgins. You _know_ that. Everyone's heard the stories."

"I lied to him and told him I lost it when I was fifteen."

"When you were _fifteen_ you were trying to get into Josh Dun's pants even though he was _obviously_ uninterested. I can't believe you."

"Brendon was hanging all over me, man. I didn't know what the hell else to do. He asked me for my phone number, y'know."

 _"Oh?_ Brendon Urie asked for _your_ phone number?"

"Yes, he did. He even sent me a text last night."

"Shit. What was it about?" Spencer's getting out of his desk chair, and moving to lie on the floor next to Dallon as the taller boy pulls his phone out to show Spencer the conversation.

"Brendon said, _"Hey. I had fun last week. I'm free this Saturday if you want to meet up again."_ I'm thinking about doing it."

"Christ. You're going to end up with a broken heart, dude."

\---

Dallon doesn't heed Spencer's warning, and on Saturday, he finds himself balls deep in Brendon _fucking_ Urie, who is bent over the back of his own couch, _begging_ for it. Dallon honestly can't tell if Brendon's faking it, and pretending to enjoy it, or if he's actually _good_ at fucking him.

\---

A few months go by, and once or twice a week Dallon gets summoned by Brendon to have sex with him. They have sex a total of nine times before Brendon tells Dallon to take him on a date. And... quite frankly, it's a lovely date. They laugh and share a plate of food on a picnic blanket on Brendon's dining room floor, exchanging sweet and gentle kisses here and there.

Dallon eventually finds himself on his knees, staring up at Brendon, who, in the light reflecting off of his face produced by the television in the room, and the lamp next to the couch, looks regal; royalty. Dallon relishes in the feeling of Brendon's hands on his face, the warm and soothing feeling of his touch washing through him, making him feel shiny and new.


	2. Chapter 2

**premise:** i'm bipolar? i was honestly just venting in this bit lol

*

You're fifteen and you're standing on the roof of your apartment building, hanging onto a flag pole, and staring down at the ground below. You're not that high up--three floors--but it's enough to make you feel _alive._ Even at this height, you're left winded, clutching that flag pole because your life literally depends on it. You could let go and just kill yourself, right now, and no one could stop you. You're in control, and you fucking love it.

You're about to jump, honestly, mostly to see if you can, but your phone buzzes in your pocket and the buzz is followed by your notification sound. It scares you but it reminds you that you have at least one person on this shitty planet who gives at least half of a singular shit about you, so you step down and stumble back about five feet before pulling your phone out of your pocket.

\---

 **dallon:** hey i'm about to go to bed but i just wanted to remind you to go drink a glass of water and to, at the very least, take some melatonin and sleep for a few hours. at the most i want you to take your prescriptions, which i know you havent taken since monday, judging by your pill box.

 **bread:** do you ever think about how you could just kill yourself with the stupidest of things and no one could stop you? no one could even find out for the longest amounts of time? i could honestly just take a nosedive off the complex i live in at this very second and no one would know until my mom got around to telling everyone. isn't that fucked up or what?

 **dallon:** dude for fucks sake

 **dallon:** i love you, you're important to me, but go take your fucking prescriptions and go to bed i dont care if i have to drive to your house my damn self and physically shove those pills down your throat.

 **dallon:** where are you

 **bread:** on the roof

 **bread:** i was gonna do it but you texted me at the right time i guess lol

 **bread:** everything's so fast right now. i think im shaking? idk. its like everythings just rushing by under my fingers even though im standing still and its really fucking freaky

 **bread:** i feel like im high right now too. not stoned but just like. high up.

 **dallon:** do you need me to come over

 **bread:** arent you going to bed

 **dallon:** no im putting my shoes on i was just asking as a formality

 **bread:** im gonna go sit on the stairs

 **bread:** ill see you in a bit i guess

\---

You're on the top step and you sit there for fifteen minutes with your head in your hands until you hear Dallon's stupid, clumsy, and uncoordinated foot steps clambering up the stairs. He looks dead on his feet. He didn't even take the time to put his contacts back in, which makes you feel bad. You like texting him over anyone else, mostly because he doesn't force you to get up right away. Instead, he sits down next to you, and simply asks, "Are you alright?"

"I'm not dead, so I guess I am," you mutter. You're fifteen and angsty. He's seventeen and tired.

"Dude, 'alright' isn't you almost trying to kill yourself because you're off your meds and manic."

"They don't even work."

"Maybe that's because you only take them two or three times a week, instead of every night like you're supposed to."

You make a face and avoid eye contact because, unfortunately, he's right. "Do you wanna yell at me and get it over with?"

"No, I don't want to yell at you."


	3. Chapter 3

 

 **premise:** zombie apocalypse? i had a zombie apocalypse au that i orphaned and i think i wrote this because i liked the concept but wanted to do it better ig?

\---

Your first idea is to go to your school, since it's, like, a bomb shelter or something. It's a logical choice, you know? You can't find your family, and you're lost as _fuck,_ so making your way towards your high school is the most logical idea you have. The other one was to give up and die, at least in a metaphorical sense.

You don't have a car, nor do you know how to drive one, so you have to walk from your little subdivision in Ogden to where your high school is at, which is at least five miles. You walk approximately three miles an hour, so it takes almost two hours. That's two hours of fending off the weird humanoid creatures that they've been talking about on the news, and that's two hours of _danger._

This shit hasn't even been going on for more than a few days, but everything is messy and crazy. You figure that, out of the probably ninety thousand people who live in Ogden, at least eighty thousand are _gone_ _,_ whether they left to seek safety, or whether they're dead, _or_ maybe even some have turned into some of those _things._ Along the way, you see three people, all of which are doing their own thing, so you don't say anything. You're fast, you're quiet, and you're sneaky.

You decide that high schools are creepy the second you see yours. There's trees right next to your high school, which is where you're hiding. You're examining it, trying to decide whether or not it's safe to proceed. You feel kind of like a cat who just got adopted and who is hiding, trying to figure out if they're safe or not. You've had a lot of cats, alright?

Anyways, the point is, when a high school has no one in it, and no lights on, they're super creepy. You end up saying, "Fuck it," and darting over to one of the doors. It's locked, but you're the kind of creep who carries a lock picking kit around with him, so that doesn't end up being too much of an issue. You're also the kind of guy who knows how to pick a lock anyways, meaning the kit doesn't end up being useless.

You don't have any weapons with you, aside from a knife. Like, the big ass knives that no one _actually_ uses in their kitchen. It's not even that sharp, but you still have it on the inside of your jacket just in case. It's better than not being prepared at all.

The inside of the school looks like the perfect setting for some apocalypse movie. there's papers strewn about the place, and some of the lights in the hallway are knocked down, lying forgotten on the floors. There's lockers open, classroom doors uselessly barricaded, and it's so surreal. To add to the creepy vibe, there's _no one_ there.

The only noise you can hear is the wind outside, and the sounds of your sneakers on the floors in the hallway. You just keep walking. You don't really even know where you're headed, at least until you find yourself face to face with the doors leading into the gymnasium. You're about to open them, but you hear noises. Like, the kind of noises that the _things_ are making.

You don't know what the things are, honestly. You're pretty sure they're dead. Like, dead people. You don't even know how dangerous they are, but you're not taking any chances.

The point is, once you hear those noises coming from the gymnasium, you mentally say, _"Nope,"_ and start walking in the opposite direction. You decide that it can't do you any harm to leave through the front doors, because, hey, you at least have a clear line of sight there.

You still press your back against the wall next to the door, and, very dramatically, you look over your shoulder after you lean to your left so you can look out of the windows, and make sure that it's, y'know, safe.

The sight you see...

To say the least, you aren't pleased.

It's not as if there's a bunch of the things roaming about. There's like, a few, but not a _bunch._ The thing that leaves you displeased though, is _him._ Your arch nemesis. Okay, that's dramatic, but he's one of the drama and choir and band kids, and, hell, probably one of the art kids too, and he's fucking _annoying._ He's small, he's loud, he's obnoxious, and he gets on your nerves.

You're positive he doesn't like you either, but as he's drawing closer to the school, you notice the look on his face, his attire, and his general demeanor. He looks shaken up. His hair, which is normally slicked back, is hanging in his face, and it lacks its usual amount of hair gel and hairspray. There's blood on his face, and there's some on his clothes as well.

He apparently sees your face, and you cuss under your breath, because he starts speeding up as he approaches the doors. He hits the glass a few times, and you fully reveal yourself. You swipe your horizontal hand across your throat a few times, basically telling him to knock it the fuck off. Being noisy is _not_ good. You're tall, so you're able to reach above the door with barely any difficulty to unlock it.

He steps in, and the first thing out of his mouth is, "Fuck you."

"Fuck _me?_ I could've just left you out there, asshole." You reach forward and nudge him. You aren't gentle about it either. "Why are you here?"

Apparently, he has the same logic as you, and you figure this out when he says, "Because, this place is a bomb shelter, and I figured it'd be best to go here instead of hiding in my basement waiting for someone to come and rescue me."

You frown. "It's not the best place. I just figured that out about five minutes ago."

And now _he_ frowns. "Why not?"

"Those... _things,_ whatever the fuck they are--there's a bunch of them in the gym. I heard them, and I figured if I can hear them, then I don't want to fuck around with trying to get into the gym. Your best bet is to just go back home."

He shifts awkwardly, and breaks eye contact, opting to stare at a spot on your jacket. "I can't go home."

"Why not?"

"Because I watched my parents and my sister get killed by those things, and I barely managed to get out, alright? I don't have anywhere else to go."

You feel a _little_ bad for him. Not _that_ bad, because you hate him more than anything, but there's a part of you that feels just a bit of sympathy towards him. You sigh a little bit before grabbing his arm and dragging him towards the nurse's office. Along the way, you quietly ask him, "Are you hurt at all?"

"Just a few cuts on my hand." He holds his hand out a bit, and you glance at it. "Had to break a window. Didn't think to put something over my hand."

You sigh quietly, because, for one thing, he's sort of stupid, and for another, here you are, basically taking care of your _arch nemesis,_ as you would oh-so dramatically put it. Okay, alright, he just watched his family die, and you should be _more_ sympathetic, but you're stubborn.

You lock the doors leading to the administrative area before you head to the nurse's office. Once there, you flick the lights on, thanking god they actually work. A lot of places have lost power, but this school hasn't, thankfully.

You make him sit on one of the cots in the room before you're dropping to your knees in front of him so you can take a look at his hand. It's _still_ bleeding, and there's a few shards of glass that he didn't pick out that you can see.

You don't have much medical experience, but your mom is a nurse, and you've been around her enough to know a _few_ things. You stand up, and head towards where all the medical supplies are kept.

You root through a cupboard until you find gauze, cotton balls, and an ACE bandage, then you have to root around in a different cupboard a little more before you find tweezers and rubbing alcohol. With those items in hand, you make your way back to where Brendon's sitting on a cot. He's just watching you with a blank face. He still has his hand out and turned to where is palm is up.

You end up setting what you'd grabbed down next to him, and rolling the desk chair from behind the desk in the room to where it's in front of where he's sitting. It'll be easier. You sit, and you take his hand in yours, pulling it over. At least he's not the kind of dumb ass who broke a window with his right hand. Unless he's left handed, then he _is_ a dumb ass, but still. Your point stands.

You ask him to hand you the tweezers. Once they're in your hand, and before you get to picking glass out of his hand, you talk. "Okay, I'm not, like, a doctor obviously, and this will probably hurt, so try not to be loud if you have to make any noise. Just... Yeah."

"Didn't expect you to do much more than tell me to fuck off, so don't worry about it, I guess." He shrugs, which causes you to _sigh._

You try to be as careful as you possibly can as you're picking glass out of his hand. You just toss the bits of glass onto the floor, because you don't really know what else to do with them, and since you figure this room isn't going to get used anytime soon anyways. He winces once in awhile, and has to bite at one of his sleeves, but eventually you have them all out.

"Rubbing alcohol burns, but you probably know that. Just... warning you." You shrug as you're pressing a cotton ball against the opening of the bottle of rubbing alcohol. Once the cotton ball has a respectable amount of alcohol on it, you're dabbing it onto some of the cuts on his hand. He winces and you have to hold onto his wrist just so he doesn't yank his hand away. You also have to mutter, "Quit moving, unless you want these to get infected and lose your hand or some bullshit like that."

Eventually you have his hand wrapped in gauze and an ACE bandage. He mumbles out a quiet, "Thanks, Dallon," which earns a, "It's cool," out of you. "Now what do we do?" Brendon asks as he follows you out of the administrative area of the school. You're planning to exit the premises, and find somewhere else to go, and you weren't really planning on him following you.

"And exactly why do you think you're staying with me?" You mutter with a frown thrown over your shoulder at him. Right now, one of your first priorities is to find something better than a butcher knife to defend yourself with, along with the whole 'finding somewhere else to go' shtick.

"Because I don't have anywhere else to go and you seem like you know what you're doing. Also, I don't want to die. You seem like a safe bet."

That's definitely a load of horse shit. You have no idea what you're doing. You're just trying to go with your gut, and pray it turns out for the best. "So, what--do you want me to be your glorified babysitter?" You're still letting him follow you, of course.

"No. I just--I figure it can't hurt to at least have someone on my side. It's not easy being alone, and I'll admit it--I'm scared. I mean I just--I just watched my entire fucking family die."

You grunt a little bit, and squint slightly when he's linking his arm with yours as if he's trying not to get separated. By now, you're near the trees again, and he's _questioning_ you.

"We won't be seen, alright? Keep your mouth shut and just follow me."

He doesn't keep his mouth shut. He just keeps asking questions. He does have the sense to keep his voice lowered, though, so you only get a little bit more annoyed at him. "What are we looking for?"

"Signs of other people. Those _things_. Somewhere to run to once we do decide to move from here."

He nods, and his eyebrows furrow a bit as he examines the area around the two of you. You roll your eyes a little bit while you're looking for a path to go in. Once you figure one out, you're asking him, "Do you know how to drive?"

"Yeah. Don't have a license, but I spent a few years with my grandparents, who live on a farm, so I know how to drive both stick and automatic, plus I know how to drive a tractor. I don't think driving laws are going to matter at the moment, though."

"So, you can drive, and I can hotwire a car. I can also siphon gas. Are you willing to drive if I give you directions to somewhere that we could get shit to defend ourselves with?"

"Sure. Why do you know somewhere like that, though?"

"Because. I'm creepy and I like to know useless information that just happens to be useful at the moment." You don't even know why you're trying to defend yourself.

You keep up a rather brisk pace as you're walking towards a car. You pull on the handle, but it doesn't budge, so you move onto the next car.

"Why didn't you pick the lock?"

"Car alarms. I don't fuck with car alarms. I think those things are drawn to noise, so it's best if we just find a car that's already unlocked."

"Oh."

He's still holding on to your arm as you keep yanking on door handles. Eventually, there's a car that's unlocked, and you thank god that it's _old,_ meaning there's, one, no alarms, and, two, way easier to hotwire. You have to get Brendon to let go of your arm, and at first, he's _super_ reluctant, but after a quick glare from you, and you snapping at him, he lets go.

You crouch down, and before you start trying to actually hotwire the car, you decide to ask, "You don't happen to have a flat head screwdriver on you, do you?"

"What does flat head mean?"

"It means what it says. It's flat."

"Okay. I do." He reaches into his sleeve, and hands a screwdriver to you, handle first. "Had it with me to defend myself. It's... kind of dumb, but it's all I had."

"I have a kitchen knife in my jacket," you mutter. "Not like I'm all that prepared either," you continue as you're plopping down into the driver's seat. You jam the flathead into the ignition, and turn it. You want to weep with joy when you hear the car start up. You crawl over the console and get into the passenger's seat, and Brendon gets the hint to get into the driver's seat.

He closes the door behind him, and quietly asks, "Where to?"

"Get out of this parking lot, and go right. I'll give you directions as we go."

"Okay."

\---

"What if we get arrested for looting?"

You roll your eyes into the back of your head. "Have you been outside lately? There's literally _no one_ here. Grab anything sharp you see and put it in the trunk of that car, alright?" You wave your hand, motioning for him to hop to while you're working on getting the cash register open. You worked at a Walmart, part time, for about six months at some point, meaning you're pretty handy with most registers, _meaning_ this one, this cheap, low security one, isn't very hard to get open.

You don't know if money is going to end up being useful, but you still grab at least seven hundred dollars out of the damn thing. You stuff all of the bills into your wallet before you're high tailing it out of the store, this time with an actual hunting knife on the inside of your jacket.

As soon as you're sat down, Brendon's asking, "Where to?" again.

This is where you realize that you probably should've planned more ahead than this.

"We can't go to my house. The street is blocked off, and last I saw, more of those _things_ were roaming in to my subdivision. We can't go to _your_ house, because I know those things are there too. Do you have any friends?"

"No. I don't have any cell signal, and the power in my neighborhood got cut, so I haven't had internet access. You?"

"Same thing, save for the power outage. Still no internet, though. I think I heard somewhere that the government, like--okay, so, basically, in the case of a national emergency, for example, the dead coming back to live as cannibalistic monsters--like, it's some sort of protocol to cut off internet access, phone signal, cable, and radio signal, save for a select few channels and stations."

"How do you even...?"

"I'm a conspiracy nut, alright? Also, like, you'd figure it'd just be common sense. Keeps people from freaking everyone else out on the internet. Also keeps us under their control."

\---

Shelter for the night comes in the form of going to your paternal grandparents' house. (Your maternal ones are the ones who live on a farm.) They aren't there, but you know where they keep their spare key, so you're able to get inside without having to do anything illegal. The power in their neighborhood got cut, meaning it's _cold_ that night. Not, like, deathly cold, but it's October in Utah.

You go through the house and make sure all of the doors and windows are locked, and you make sure the blinds are drawn shut before letting Brendon trail behind you to the guest bedroom. You don't _want_ to share a bed with him, but he's starting to lose his cool, which is understandable, given that he watched his family die, like, three hours ago.

You keep a candle next to the bed lit, and you end up cradling the person you hate the most in the world in your arms, shushing him and trying to keep him quiet. You're a dick and you know it. You're sympathetic and you feel bad, but keeping him quiet is your first priority, because you don't wanna, like, die, or something.

He cries himself to sleep eventually, and every time you try to roll over, he starts waking up, so you end up spending the fucking night _spooning_ him. He has a few nightmares throughout the night as well, and you end up waking up so you can wake _him_ up whenever he has one. Brendon's extreme in literally every conceivable way.

\---

You figure staying at your grandparents' house for the time being is the best choice. You throw away all of their perishable food that's gone bad, and you and Brendon eat whatever perishable food that _isn't_ bad.

You're about three days into this whole apocalypse thing with Brendon when this _thing_ happens.

The 'thing' being this weird hate-slash-comfort fucking kind of thing. Your grandparents would probably lynch you if they found out you were doing _gay things_ under their roof, but they're probably dead or something, so you don't give a shit.

Brendon's in the process of trying not to get himself worked up over his parents and sister when you make the dumb move of kissing him. You're expecting him to shove you away, but he _doesn't._ In fact, he kisses back. He kisses back and you end up fucking him into oblivion, giving it everything you got, getting all of that pent up anger out. (You don't hurt him, because, despite hating him, you don't want to physically harm him. Emotionally, you don't care about him, but physically, you sorta do.)

\---

The two of you don't acknowledge the whole having sex thing. You kind of want to bring it up, but you end up not bringing it up, in favor of, like, surviving. There's what you're going to call a horde of the things that pass through the neighborhood, and it's super fucking scary, so after they've passed through, you siphon some gas from a few of the cars in the neighborhood, and the two of you set off on an... adventure.

Kind of. You figure your next stop should be your maternal grandparents' home, so you give Brendon vague directions. They live in the middle of bum fuck Idaho, but, Idaho only has, like, a collective one and a half million people living in it the last you checked, which isn't bad. Idaho is roughly the same size as the UK, maybe a little smaller, and you're pretty sure there's thirty something million people there, so, _in comparison,_ it's not that bad. (You do have to wonder what the fuck would happen in a city like New York. Probably nothing good, but still.)

The roads are surprisingly clear. There's a few times Brendon has to skirt around cars and the things--which you're going to start calling them roamers, because that's about all they do when they aren't trying to eat things--but all in all it's not really that hectic. The two of you are about a third of the way through the road trip when he looks at you, and says, "I'm teaching you how to drive," with a sour look on his face.

"If I knew how to drive, I would totally take turns driving, alright? Can't help that this shit happened before I learned how to drive."

\---

You don't like Brendon in the slightest. This is a fact you're going to repeat to yourself over and over. There's no way you could ever like him. You've hated him as long as you've known him, yet, here you are, in the backseat of the car, with Brendon fucking _riding_ you. You think he's had sex plenty of times before, because he's too smooth and experienced.

Going to your grandparents' house had been another no-go, so now you're somewhere near Heyburn, which isn't too bad. You saw a population sign that said three thousand something, which is better than the eighty something thousand in Ogden or whatever the fuck that number was. You're not the best with numbers, alright?

Point is, the two of you spend a night in the car, and in the morning, both of you wake up with _problems._ Like, morning wood problems, and _somehow_ that escalates. This time it's more of a hate-slash- _we both really need to get off right now_ kind of a fuck.

\---

Food is something the two of you didn't think about. You'd made him stop at a few gas stations along the way, but jerky and candy bars can only do so much for you. This town--the tiny one in Idaho--has a few small grocery stores. You grab a few of those, like, weird bags that white people trying to aggressively fight global warming use in place of plastic grocery sacks, and you fill, like, twenty of those with nonperishable food.

\---

This town is basically empty. There's no one here, and there's an abandoned house that you decide is perfect to stay in. You saw the windows on the outside--there's a basement in the house. It's easy to get cornered in basements, _but,_ basements are also pretty safe, so you end up pointing towards the house. Brendon just... blindly trusts you for whatever reason, and listens to you.

You go through the upstairs of the house, just to make sure it's clear, and it is, thankfully. It takes four trips to get all of the food, plus the gym bag full of weapons (read as: a bunch of hunting knives and machetes) inside of the house. You're starting to feel a little more at peace. Just a little, though.

\---

There's a bedroom in the basement with a pretty comfortable bed in it. You look around the bedroom, and you say, _"Jackpot,"_ when you spot a gun cabinet in the closet of the room. It's only locked with a padlock, so you whip out your lock picking kit and get to work. It's pretty much _full,_ and there's a bunch of ammo inside of it. You show Brendon, and he just nods, mumbling, "Cool. That's handy."

There's a set of shelves in the bedroom as well, so you make Brendon help you sort the food, placing everything on the shelves. "I think we're doing alright for ourselves."

"Beats the alternative, I guess." Brendon just sighs, and gets to work on wedging a chair under the door. It's getting dark, and it's November now, you think, _in Idaho,_ meaning it's fucking _freezing_ by the time night actually falls.

The two of you curl up together under three blankets, and, unfortunately, you end up spooning him. Both of you are cold, though, and sharing body heat isn't a dumb idea. Added, Brendon keeps waking himself up from nightmares, and you have to try your best to comfort him lest he make a bunch of noise. Noise is dangerous.

\---

When you wake up, Brendon's face is right in front of yours, and if you didn't know better, you'd say he was dead. You try not to startle him as you wake him up, meaning you reach your hand up, and place it on his cheek before letting your fingers run through his greasy hair. It's a little too affectionate for your tastes, but the last time you shook him awake, he almost socked you in the jaw.

His eyes open slowly and he looks... soft for a moment before he realizes where the two of you are. He sighs and closes his eyes again. "I was dreaming about my boyfriend. I thought you were him for a minute. Do you ever feel like everything is alright for a few seconds when you wake up?"

"Yeah. What's your boyfriend like?"

"Tall, skinny, and pretty, sort of like you, except I don't hate him. He's probably dead, so I dunno. I was kind of thinking he was going to be endgame, but I guess not. I miss him. I liked it when he hugged me. He gave the best hugs and I always felt like everything was going to be alright. Did you have a boyfriend?"

"Girlfriend, actually. She, uh... She's great. I miss her. We broke up a few weeks before shit hit the fan, but it doesn't mean I don't love her."

"Sorta thought you were gay."

"I'm not anything. I like who I like I guess." You yawn and shrug as best as you can. "Would it be inappropriate if I kissed you?"

He shrugs, and the next thing you know he's scooting forward with a hand on the back of your head, kissing you. You still hate him but this seemed like a good time for a kiss. He ends up straddling your hips, still somehow covered by the blankets. There's hands under shirts, skin being explored, and then he's on his stomach with his pants and underwear pulled down the middle of his thighs, and you're sticking your fingers in his mouth, telling him to _suck._

You know spit isn't lube, but he's basically begging you to fuck him, and you're not the kind of guy who's about to go at it dry. You finger him for a bit before he's batting your hand away and telling you to hop to. You spit into the palm of your hand, stroke yourself a few times, and then you're pressing into him, letting out a breath in lieu of a moan once you've bottomed out. He's _tight._

Once you start to pick up a consistent pace, you're whispering, _"God, you're so tight,"_ into his ear. He nods, his eyes close, and his mouth drops open since you're going faster. It's sort of cute in a way, how he bites at the pillow, trying to muffle moans. You, personally, take to biting his shoulder and his neck.

You think this is more of a we're-both-sad-over-losing-our-respective-partners kind of fuck.

\---

Brendon picks a morning where you're basically dead to the world to slip out of the house for a bit. He doesn't get back before you're awake, though, so by the time you hear one of the doors upstairs opening, you're losing your fucking mind. You haven't had a panic attack in a few years, and even then, you've never had one this bad.

Brendon's the only thing in your life right now that you're able to depend on, and he's the only _stable_ thing in your life right now in general. It's probably in the middle of November, you'd estimate, and you're just--you weren't expecting him to _not_ be in your arms when you woke up. It freaked you out.

You feel bad for this next part, but, you yell at him. You don't like yelling or making noise, but he _scared_ you, so you're yelling at him, telling him to _never_ pull that shit on you ever again. He flinches here and there but once you're done shouting, he's tentatively stepping towards you, and you wish your first reaction to him reaching a hand up to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear wasn't to fucking _melt_ into the touch, and you wish your first reaction to him pulling you into a hug as he mumbles, "I'm sorry," wasn't to hold him tight, to start crying into his shoulder, and mumbling a bunch of things along the lines of, _"I thought I lost you."_

Brendon just keeps hugging you and muttering apologies.

Everything you know is dead. You think that it's perfectly reasonable for you to be losing your mind.

\---

Once you're done, y'know, losing your mind, Brendon shows you what he left to go find. He has a bunch of candles, saying something about the two of you needing to be able to see when it's night time, and he also has a bottle of _lube,_ saying something else about _just in case that wasn't a weird three time thing._

\---

There's a Walmart about a mile or two from the house, so that's the place you and Brendon hit up first. At the moment, the two of you are alright, just... cold, but at some point, you mumbled something like, "We should probably start stockpiling on cold medicine and shit like that," into his shoulder before falling asleep.

Anyways, present time, you're shining a flashlight onto shelves, and instructing Brendon on what to grab, and for once, he's listening to you without question. (He listens to you anyways, but he usually at least asks for your reasoning.)

After stocking up on over the counter medicine, the two of you pick the lock to the pharmacy, which, honestly, wasn't as hard as you were expecting. Pros of small towns with low crime rates, you suppose. "What are we looking for in here?" He asks, quietly.

"Are you allergic to penicillin?" Is what you respond with as you're grabbing a few bottles of amoxicillin from a shelf.

"No. I've had strep throat enough to where I'd know by now if I was," he mutters. You just nod, and you grab as many bottles of useful things as you can. (The most notable things you grab include hydrocodone, oxycodone, a generic version of Vistaril, which you remember your mother saying something about being both an antihistamine and an anti-anxiety medication (you're grabbing it for the antihistamine part), and, at Brendon's request, you grab at _least_ a years supply of the anxiety medication he was taking before all of this. All of that, plus the amoxicillin, of course.)

\---

You're in the backyard of the _house,_ dicking around and kind of exploring, just to see what's there. The first thing you notice is a _shed._ It's nothing fancy, literally. It's definitely something that wasn't made professionally, that you can tell right off the bat, but there _are_ some useful things in it.

For example, a space heater, and a generator, both of which you could _really_ use right now, especially given that it's probably around Christmastime, and that it's been hovering around negative ten degrees, Fahrenheit, for the past week. You use your flashlight to look at the generator, and you almost weep with joy after finding out three of the following things: It's portable, it has wheels, and all it needs is _water,_ which there's no shortage of at the moment, since there's at _least_ four feet of snow on the ground right now.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**premise:** another vent fic??? TW for sure

*

It takes a lot of energy, effort, sacrifice, and pain to love an addict. That's not to say addicts aren't worthy of love, because they are, but your issue is figuring out where it stops being healthy and fairly normal, for you, and where it starts being toxic and not normal at fucking all.

You think it stops being normal and starts being toxic the second _he's_ in your face, screaming at you over not wanting to have sex with him, especially when he's high like this. You wouldn't have sex with him if _you_ were high like that, and you aren't going to have sex with him if _he's_ high like this. He's not taking no for an answer, though.

So. You wind up with his fist in your jaw, and then your face and upper body pressed into the wall as he _uses you,_ and not in a fun way. It hurts, and it's the worst sex of your fucking life. He can't even keep it up long enough to finish before he's knocking you to the ground and, literally, spitting on you.

You wait until he storms out of the apartment to do anything. And, by doing anything, you mean that you cram a few changes of clothes, plus your laptop, into a backpack, and you jam your earbuds and phone charger into the pocket of your sweatshirt before marching out of the apartment yourself.

\---

_**Dallon  
Today, 12:47 AM** _

If I give you my address could you pick me up. Like. ASAP.

_**Bread  
Today, 12:52 AM** _

I'm about to go to bed dude or I would  
Unless it's an emergency tho I could be there in ten or twenty

_**Dallon  
Today, 12:55 AM** _

It's an emergency otherwise I wouldn't have asked  
I think I might need to go to an emergency room idk

_**Bread  
Today, 12:57 AM** _

Um. Ok. Make it ten minutes.  
Why do you need to go to an ER???  
I have school tomorrow so I can't, like, be out past five. But. I'll take you.

_**Dallon  
Today, 12:59 AM** _

I'm trying very hard not to dissociate rn  
You're the one friend I have who doesn't like my boyfriend right

_**Bread  
Today, 1:01 AM** _

Yeah I think he's a sack of shit. What did he do

_**Dallon  
Today, 1:03 AM** _

Punched me in the face because I wouldn't have sex with him then like. Fucked me anyways. So. Idk. At the very least I think I should report him for domestic abuse because this has happened before

_**Bread  
Today, 1:04 AM** _

Okay. What you're going to do is walk to that McDonald's near your apartment and stay there until I get there rather than sitting on the stairs in front of your apartment, since that's where you usually sit. Ok? I can probably paypal you a few bucks if you need to buy something to drink while you wait or whatever

_**Dallon  
Today, 1:05 AM** _

I can do that

\---

You do just that. You walk, or limp, rather, to the McDonald's that's a few blocks from your apartment, and you order a small water, focusing on just drinking that and smoking a cigarette while waiting for Brendon to show up.


	5. Chapter 5

**premise:** what if dallon was famous

*

At eighteen, Brendon's obnoxious, naive, and he doesn't know any better. At eighteen he falls in love fast and hard with anyone who pays him any sort of attention. At eighteen he breaks hearts every other month, leading girls on and hanging them out to dry once he's done with them. At eighteen he doesn't want to get too close to anyone. At eighteen he decides love isn't for him, despite the fact he's a hopeless romantic.

***

At twenty two Dallon's in what is arguably and seemingly the height of his career. At twenty two he's full of himself and he expects everyone to fall at his feet and worship him immediately. At twenty two he's vain and conceited and obsessed with his looks. At twenty two he's unable to hold down a girlfriend for longer than a month or two before they get tired of his shit. At twenty two he's angry and fed up and decides that girls are stupid and that he can get by being alone.

***

Brendon's nineteen and falling into bed with his best friend. It starts with an eighteen pack of beers, bought for them by an of age friend, and ends in Brendon arching his back and balling the fleece blanket on Ryan's bed up in his fists as his best friend goes down on him. He hasn't ever considered the possibility of liking guys before, but then Ryan was kissing him and touching him all over and it felt good and didn't feel wrong or weird like he might have expected it to.

After a few more run-ins involving Ryan and alcohol and drunken sexual favors Brendon decides that maybe love is for him and maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea for him to try it out with his best friend, someone he can trust, someone he _should_ trust.

***

Dallon's twenty three and if he wasn't emptying his guts into a toilet he'd be batting his drummer's hands away from his hair. He's crying and basically having a breakdown and he's shaking his head when Ryan (Seaman) tells him he needs to stop doing this before every interview or photo shoot. _"No, no, I can't. They're going to see how gross and fucking_ fat _I am if I don't do this."_

 _"That doesn't matter. Making yourself throw up is going to bloat you up more than the fucking granola bar you ate this morning."_ Dallon still chews a piece of gum and dabs a little concealer under his eyelids and he's out of the bathroom looking fresh and smelling fresh less than ten minutes later.

***

Brendon's twenty one and sitting on the back step at Spencer's condo rubbing his knuckles down with an alcohol wipe while Spencer's taking a rubbing alcohol soaked q-tip to his split lip. He's sniffling and crying a little bit even though it sort of hurts given he has a pretty good shiner from the fist of his best friend when Spencer asks him what the hell happened.

He grabs a tennis ball, and pelts it across Spencer's backyard, letting out a shout just before the ball hits the fence with a loud thud. Brendon yells and huffs and kicks his feet as he explains the latest fight with Ryan that ended in a fist fight and a pretty nasty break up.

Brendon's twenty one and heartbroken and curled up crying in a friend's bed when he decides that he was wrong and that love definitely isn't for him. If his best friend could break his heart like this, then who's to say anyone else _won't?_

***

Dallon's twenty seven and on a blind date that his manager set him up on. He lies and says his name is James as he introduces himself in the waiting area of an upscale restaurant, because he doesn't want to risk getting recognized by any of the wait staff, or any passer-bys. The guy smiles at him and introduces himself as Brendon and shakes his hand nice and firm and Dallon's a little smitten.

He's not expecting to care about this stranger, but as the date goes on, he can feel himself making an ass out of himself, and he's spiraling because he's nervous and wants to impress this guy but this guy doesn't even know who he is, and Dallon's trying his best to work on himself and to change how he acts around other people but he still makes an absolute _fool_ out of himself as he asks the dude if he's joking when he admits he doesn't recognize him.


	6. Chapter 6

**premise:** dunno when i wrote this but im positive it was 2016 during the height of the group chat fics lol

*

 **brendon:** are you the tall guy frm the party last week

 **dallon:** very vague description but probably

 **brendon:** one of my friends had ur kik username

 **dallon:** okay

 **dallon:** what are u getting at

 **brendon:** man I dont know I thought you were cute and I wanted to see where a kik conversation got me; call me an optimistic hopeless romantic

 **dallon:** I dont think the character limit for kik names is that long but ill try

 **brendon:** youre a smart ass

 **dallon:** and you're short

 **brendon:** bitch im 5'10” im average

 **brendon:** you're about as tall as a damn giraffe

 **dallon:** you know what

 **dallon:** you have a point and I don't have an argument but you know whaaatttttt

 **brendon:** :^)

 

.:/\/\/\:.

 

 **brendon:** what school do ya go to

 **dallon:** im in college

 **brendon:** oh good fucking god how old are you

 **dallon:** twenty one

 **dallon:** …how old are you

 **brendon:** ,,, 17

 **dallon:** okay let me get this straight

 **brendon:** well I mean

 **dallon:** dont start

 **dallon:** anyways let me get this straight—youre 17 and u let me blow you at a shitty house party

 **brendon:** I thought you were like eighteen or something I didnt know you were a grandpa

 **brendon:** why were you even at the party

 **dallon:** the short dude with the hair told me to go to it

 **brendon:** theres like three short dudes with 'the hair'

 **dallon:** red hair guy with the piercings

 **brendon:** wait _josh_ told u to go to th party

 **brendon:** hes sixteen how do you even know him

 **dallon:** what the fuck is it with teenagers now a days

 **dallon:** he tried hitting on me at a bar a few months ago

 **brendon:** dude thank you

 **dallon:** what

 **brendon:** u just gave me blackmail material

 

_**brendon added josh, memeler, peter goes, and ash to the conversation** _

_**brendon renamed the conversation to I GOT YOU NOW, FUCKER** _

 

 **josh:** wyd

 **peter goes:** which one of us are you going to screw over

 **ash:** its not going to be me because im clean as a slate

 **memeler:** youre a stoner

 **ash:** we live in california no one cares

 **memeler:** youre a minor and you dont have a license for it

 **ash:** you know what tyler

 **josh:** wow ashley rude resepct his identity he is memeler

 **memeler:** oh fuck off josh

 **memeler:** yo bread boy why did you make the conversation

 **brendon:** quit calling me bread boy

 **brendon:** [image attached]

 **josh:** there's many joshes in the world he could be talking about anyone

 **brendon:** we live in one of the smallest towns in california and youre the only dude with red hair and piercings NAMED josh

 **memeler:** how did you even get into a bar

 **josh:** I have a fake ID

 **memeler:** we've been best friends since we were five yet I didnt know about this

 **josh:** im mysterious what can I say

 **brendon:** josh look I have receipts im going to blackmail you

 **josh:** why do you even need to blackmail me

 **josh:** I will happily post on my facebook, twitter, instagram, tumblr, and snapchat that I hit on the cute tall college guy at a bar which I got into illegally you dont have shit on me

 **brendon:** you're… you're shameless

 **memeler:** brendon hed probably post his own nudes just to spite you

 **josh:** actually I wouldnt since im 16 and I dont want to get nailed for child pornography

 **memeler:** wait have u taken nudes

 **josh:** no because im not dumb

 **memeler:** if u ever do send them to me

 **josh:** you say you're not gay 4 me yet u tell me to do that shit

 **memeler:** im not gay for you

 **memeler:** I just want to critique your nudes

 **peter goes:** HOW DO YOU CRITIQUE A NUDE

 **memeler:** well

 **memeler:** [image attached]

 **memeler:** the angle isn't the best, the photo quality is subpar, and the pubes could've been shaved better

 **memeler:** fashion choice is tacky, because, lets be real, who the hell wears a gray and purple jacket with blue jeans, and who paints their fingernails black anymore

 **memeler:** as far as the actual dick goes it's not a bad one, and it's above average as far as length goes in proportion to the rest of your body

 **memeler:** all in all Id give it a 7.5/10

 **brendon:** tyler you are fucking savage

 **peter goes:** WHERE DID YOU EVEN GET THAT

 **memeler:** you posted it on myspace on accident and i'm the biggest hoarder of receipts dont test me

 **brendon:** props to you, dude

 **memeler:** bread boy if u want actual receipts on josh feel free to hit me up because I have some

 **memeler:** for example, the tetanus dick incident

 **josh:** tyler we agreed never to speak of that

 **memeler:** I just siad what it was I didnt go into detail josh

 **brendon:** again quit calling me bread boy also what was the tetanus dick incident

 **josh:** im exposing myself before tyler does

 **josh:** I was tryn to shave my pubes because my pubes kept getting caught in my underwear and I nicked one of my balls with the razor and ended up having to get a tetanus shot

 **memeler:** wow I didnt think you actually had it in you to admit that

 **brendon:** im going to go back to talking to the tall cute college boy yall are weird

 

.:/\/\/\:.

 

 **bread boy:** wyd

 **dallon:** why are you named bread boy

 **bread boy:**...i need to put a pin # on my phone

 **dallon:** did one of your friends change it

 **bread boy:** yes

 **dallon:** why bread boy though

 **bread boy:** auto correct and insomnia resulted in bread don boy you're

 **dallon:** that's actually kind of amazing

 **bread boy:** have you ever had any misspellings of your name from auto correct

 **dallon:** dad long weeks

 **bread boy:** dadlon

 **bread boy:** does anyone ever called u dad

 **dallon:** no but ive been told that im the 'dad friend' idk what that means

 **bread boy:** it means u take care of everyone & give awkward advice

 **dallon:** what kind of friend are you

 **bread boy:** the mom friend

 **bread boy:** its like the dad friend except I dont give awkward advice

 **dallon:** sounds complex

 **bread boy:** do u wanna hang out some time

 **dallon:** I have finals to study for or i'd take you up on your offer

 **bread boy:** I said 'some time' not now u shithead

 **dallon:** maybe

 

.:/\/\/\:.

 

_**bread boy renamed the conversation to GIVE BRENDON ADVICE 2K12** _

 

 **bread boy:** yall I need advice

 **ash:** what do u need advice on

 **bread boy:** college boy advice

 **ash:** okay thats not what I asked

 **bread boy:** how do I hit on college boy

 **ash:** well you could reel back and deck him square in the jaw

 **bread boy:** ashley u kno what I meaaaannn

 **ash:** aren't you the Gay Slut ™ of our school shouldnt u kno how to hit on people

 **bread boy:** excuse you im the bisexual slut

 **bread boy:** usually when I hit on the ladies and gents im inebriated and at a party ok

 **ash:** you're like a fountain of bad choices

 **bread boy:** ill ignore that remark anyways I asked college boy if he wanted to hang out some time and he said “i have finals to study for or id take you up on your offer” but then I was like “i said somet time not now u shithead” and he said “maybe”

 **bread boy:** what does it mean

 **pepsi:** it means he probably wants 2 hang out with u but hes tryna be discreet

 **bread boy:** pete why are u named pepsi

 **pepsi:** why not

 **bread boy:** fair enough

 **ash:** okay boys are dumb and awkward and afraid to show their tru feelings so bread boy you need to be ASSERTIVE and let him KNO u wanna bone it out with him

 **bread boy:** oh my god I dont want 2 bone it out with him I wanna get to know him because he seems like prime boyfriend material & im lonely :(

 **skeleton:** just ask him when he wants to hang out omg

 **bread boy:** okay, _tyler,_ I would but its like… I need to not seem desperate

 **skeleton:** you'll seem desperate either way so go ask mr giraffe out

 

.:/\/\/\:.

 

 **bread:** hey sorry if I seem desperate but do you actually want to hang out sometime

 **bread:** like legit just hang out straight up dorito fingers and mountain dew while playing COD hang out

 **daddy weekes:** yeah idk when ill be free thats why I said maybe

 **daddy weekes:** probably after the fourteenth because thts when my semester ends

 **bread:** why are you named daddy weekes

 **daddy weekes:**...the same reason u need to put a pin # on your phone

 **bread:** haaaa

 **dallon:** anyways after the 14th feel free to hit me up I guess idk

 

.:/\/\/\:.

 

_**bread renamed the conversation to IT'S HAPPENING** _

 

 **bread:** [image attached]

 **bread:** after the 14th I am free to start hitting on college boy

 **spooky guy:** congratulations I hope the boning of the weekes-urie union happens soon I am tired of ur pining

 **bread:** fuck off josh???

 **bread:** do I need to dig up every conversation and picture from the past 4 yrs that have to do with u and tyler

 **spooky guy:** ok but im not gay for tyler

 **ty guy:** rude

 **ty guy:** im not gay 4 josh tho either so ur point is moot bread boy

 **bread:** pete, ash what are ur opinions on this

 **pete:** if tyler and josh dont get together within the next few years I will literally kill myself

 **ash:** ^

 **bread:** see im not the only one

 **spooky guy:** im straight

 **ty guy:** ^ why do u guys think we're gay together

 **ash:** the two of you are always around each other and neither of u are fooling anyone with the no homo bullshit

 

.:/\/\/\:.

 

 **brendon:** dad its the 15th wanna hang out

 **dallon:** oh god not you too

 **brendon:** what

 **dallon:** everyone keeps calling me dad im just a simple man

 **brendon:** ok but ur aesthetic is white dad

 **dallon:** ill hang out with u as long as u dont call me dad ever again

 **brendon:** im not making any promises but ill try

 **dallon:** im sighing. loudly.

 **brendon:** accept ur dad aesthetic

 **dallon:** no

 **brendon:** hang out w/me I wont call u dad for at least a month

 **dallon:** fine

 

_**brendon renamed the conversation to ITS HAPPENING V 2.0** _

 

 **brendon:** [image attached]

 **daddy dun:** if you listen closely you can hear my war cries of finally

 **brendon:** why why WHY are you named daddy dun

 **baby boy joseph:** why not

 **brendon:** do ur guys' name have any correlation

 **baby boy joseph:** no where would u even get that idea from

 **pete:** ……………

 **ash:** oh my god why are the two of u so gay

 **baby boy joseph:** we arent the focus here lets focus on brendon and tall college guy

 **brendon:** he said he wants to go get smth to eat then go back to his place to bullshit

 **ash:** meaning he wants to fuck

 **brendon:** he said no such thing why cant two dudes get shitty fast food then hang out

 **brendon:** I mean look at josh & tyler

 **ash:** thats the worst example

 **daddy dun:** we aaaaaareeeeeeentt gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyy

 **ash:** [image attached] **_[its the one that says 'calling bullshit']_**

 **baby boy joseph:** im a LITTLE not straight but I have 0% interest in josh climb Out Of My A ss

 **pete:** tyler arent u religious isnt it a sin to lie

 **baby boy joseph:** its a sin to eat shellfish but you dont see me lighting every shrimp I see on fire

 **daddy dun:** yeah if you did pete would be dead

 **pete:** just because im 5'4” doesnt mean I wont kick your asses

 

.:/\/\/\:.

 

 **dallon:** where do you live

 **brendon:** youre coming on a little too strong my dude

 **dallon:** oh my god youre the one who wanted to hang out

 **brendon:** im just bustin yer chops

 **dallon:** yet you call me grandpa

 **brendon:** do you want my address or not

 **dallon:** fine fine gimme it

 

.:/\/\/\:.

 

_**brendon renamed the conversation to FIFTEEN MINUTES** _

 

 **jimjams:** what

 **brendon:** cute college guy is picking me up in fifteen minutes to hang out im going to Bust A Nut

 **ash:** its a liiiitle too soon for that dont ya think

 **hoeseph:** whats the official plan

 **brendon:** we're going to go to subway, eat, then we're gonna play video games or watch something on tv for a few hours typical teenager things

 **ash:** isn't he 21

 **brendon:** I didnt ask for this harassment

 **ash:** it isnt harassment omg

 **ash:** be careful though you dont really know him

 **brendon:** I know that he seems like a nice guy and that he's hot so the risk is worth it

 **hoeseph:** solid logic

 **jimjams:** I have faith in you dude go get it in

 **brendon:** I dont want to fuck him oh my god I just want to get to know him

 

.:/\/\/\:.

 

 **dallon:** uh which house is yours

 **brendon:** red door

 

 **dallon:** okay this sounds dumb but im kind of scared to knock

 **brendon:** why omg

 **dallon:** idk man I got anxiety

 **brendon:** ur fine dude just knock im like a few yards away frm the door ill get to it before my mom or my dad does

 **dallon:** alright I guess

 

.:/\/\/\:.

 

 **brendon:** hey I had fun we should hang out again soon

 **dallon:** I had fun too

 **dallon:** can I ask you something tho

 **brendon:** go for it

 **dallon:** why did you kiss me when I brought you home

 **brendon:** idk I thought you looked kind of sort of gorgeous and I thought 'what the hell' and kissed you

 **dallon:** oh

 **dallon:** I thought you looked kindasorta gorgeous too

 

_**brendon renamed the conversation to HOLYFUCKINGSHIT!!!** _

 

 **brendon:** YALL I FUCKING KISSED HIM AND HE CALLED ME GORGEOUS

 **jimjams:** youre really living life on the edge

 **hoeseph:** oh josh let him live the poor guy is in love

 **brendon:** im not in love with him

 **hoeseph:** you kissed him in highschool that means ur in love

 **ash:** so are you in love with josh then because I saw something

 **ash:** [image attached]

 **jimjams:** thats photoshopped

 **hoeseph:** fake as hell what are ya talking about

 **brendon:** that so isnt fake the two of you are liars

 **hoeseph:** youve seen ash with photoshop before

 **brendon:** thats… a good argument but bruh ur gay

 **jimjams:** how do u know he didnt hurt his lip or something maybe I was kissing it better

 **hoeseph:** josh you just incriminated yourself quit while you're ahead

 **jimjams:** how is caring for my dude incriminating

 **brendon:** oh so hes your dude now

 **jimjams:** yes hes my dude

 **hoeseph:** josh is my bro

 **jimjams:** im dude

 **hoeseph:** im bro

 **brendon:** and if the two of you make a jackass joke im walking over to either of ur houses to kick some ass

 

.:/\/\/\:.

 

 **hoe:** dallon dude I just watched the most fucked up video ever

 **dallon:** why are you named hoe

 **hoe:** pete probably took my phone ill fix it later. ANYWAYS

 **hoe:** u wanna hear about the video

 **dallon:** will I be scarred for life

 **hoe:** possibly

 **dallon:** hit me

 **hoe:** imagine a girl and imagine a used tampon

 **hoe:** now imagine said girl EATING that tampon

 **dallon:** picture me stuffing breadsticks into my purse and telling you that my mom said I have to leave immediately

 **hoe:** u have a purse?????????????

 **dallon:** maybe you dont know my life or what im about

 **hoe:** I know youre a slut for swiss rolls

 **dallon:** true

 **dallon:** do u wanna hang out this weekend

 **dallon:** I have a little money leftover from my pay check and I was kinda hoping youd let me treat you to a movie???

 **hoe:** are you asking me out on a date

 **dallon:** …no

 **hoe:** youre asking me on a date omg

 **dallon:** no im not

 **hoe:** yes you are

 **hoe:** 'let me treat you to a movie' thats gay dude ur asking me out on a date dont deny it

 **dallon:** or I could just go blow my money on chinese take out and not let you come over for a month

 **hoe:** :(

 **dallon:** ur like 12 and im like 70 im not asking u on a date

 **hoe:** correction im 17 and ur 21 its not _that_ bad

 **dallon:** youve got a point but like

 **dallon:** its not a date, dude

 **dallon:** just two dudes being bros watching movies and eating popcorn maybe kissing a little in the back of the theater just some good old platonic fun

 **hoe:** gaaaaay

 **dallon:** omg do oyu wanna go or not you asshole

 **hoe:** of course I do

 **hoe:** a movie and a hot guy beats hanging out with my family any day

 **dallon:** glad to kno im appreciated

 

_**hoe renamed the conversation to ITS HAPPENING 3.0** _

 

 **ashley:** whats the latest development in the weekes-urie union

 **hoe:** [image attached]

 **hoe:** [image attached]

 **hoe:** [image attached]

 **tyler:** thats totally a date oh my god

 **josh:** if thats not a date then I dont know what is

 **hoe:** he says its not a date though

 **tyler:** youve gotta be…

 **josh:** SHUT THE FUCK UP TYLER

 **tyler:** joshing me

 

_**josh has left the conversation** _

_**hoe has added josh to the conversation** _

 

 **hoe:** trouble in paradise?

 **ashley:** tyler keeps making josh puns and josh is in a pissy mood

 **josh:** im not in a pissy mood

 **tyler:** youre in a pissy mood

 **josh:** im not in a pissy mood

 **tyler:** yes you are

 **josh:** no im not u just keep interrupting me everytime I speak with puns

 **tyler:** dude im just joshing you

 **josh:** im breaking up with you

 

_**josh has left the conversation** _

_**ashley has added josh to the conversation** _

 

 **ashley:** BACK THE FUCK UP

 **hoe:** ARE THE TWO OF YOU TOGETHER

 **tyler:** no

 **josh:** I meant that I was gonna end our friendship

 **josh:** we're just best friends who do a bunch of gay shit together

 **josh:** we ar ent gay though

 **hoe:** I cant even tell if either of you are kidding anymore

 

.:/\/\/\:.

 

 **brendon:** ash my girl

 **ashley:** brendon my man

 **brendon:** im not talking about this in the group chat because tyler/josh/pete will tease me but u wont so like… boy things

 **brendon:** specifically college boy things

 **ashley:** how did the movie not date go

 **brendon:** he bought me popcorn & an icee so obviously hes the one

 **ashley:** lmao

 **ashley:** theres more to it so go on

 **brendon:** of course there is

 **brendon:** okay so like

 **brendon:** we were watching the movie and I think he intentionally picked a boring one because we ended up making out for most of it

 **brendon:** he leaned over and kissed me out of nowhere basically

 **brendon:** it wasnt really even awkward though

 **brendon:** hes so good at kissing like youd think that with his thin ass lips hed be bad at it but nah man hes really good at kissing

 **brendon:** it doesnt stop there tho

 **brendon:** the movie ended at seven and I didnt have to be home until midnight (legal curfew) and LBR I didnt _want_ to be home because u kno how my parents are

 **brendon:** we went to his apartment (which is surprisingly nice given hes a college student) and watched actually good movies on netflix and made out some more

 **brendon:** it wasnt the kind of making out that happens whn youre about to fuck around with someone tho like it was so slow and sweet I wanted to weep

 **brendon:** ash this boy is going to be the death of me

 **ashley:** thats so fucking adorable

 **ashley:** are you dating him yet

 **brendon:** nah ): its only been a few months since I met him

 **brendon:** I mean im working on it but u kno dont wanna rush anything or pressure him

 **ashley:** im rooting for you :)

 **brendon:** thanks

 

 **dallon:** hi

 **brendon:** hey

 **dallon:** so

 **brendon:** soooo

 **dallon:** I had fun tonight

 **brendon:** same

 **brendon:** youre fun to kiss

 **dallon:** same goes to you

 **dallon:** im going to cave and actually ask you if you wanna go out on a date yet

 **brendon:** the answer is already yes what do you got in mind

 **dallon:** idk we could hang out like usual but like

 **dallon:** romantic

 **brendon:** how can you make cod and netflix romantic

 **dallon:** okay we arent playing cod if we're gonna be on a date

 **dallon:** idk I was thinking maybe I could order a pizza or something and we could just??? do cute things kiss a lil bit flirt with each other maybe idk


	7. Chapter 7

**premise:** anyone remember those joshler headcanon blogs where they made blurryface a character and he had a southern accent i think i wrote this bc i kinda liked that idea also small towns and? dallon with a southern accent is? kinda hot?

*

You're standing at a bus stop, waiting for, y'know, a bus, when you meet this guy. This sounds like every other story about love, and that's because in some ways, it sort of is, but that doesn't make your own personal experiences any less valid.

Anyways--the guy. He smiles at you, politely, and you nod. He's handsome. Like, really handsome. You don't know if he could be considered conventionally attractive, but even if he isn't, you're almost convinced that he's the prettiest thing alive.

He's wearing a bomber jacket with a striped polo shirt underneath, accompanied by sensible jeans and sensible shoes. You're a little embarrassed, internally, at least, since you're only wearing a t-shirt, one with a few small holes, a jacket with a grease stain on the back of it (cons of working at an auto-shop, you suppose), and jeans with holes in the knees from one too many incidents with you tripping and skinning your knee on the ground.

Your shrink told you to start taking more _risks,_ so that's why you're sticking a hand out, and saying, "Hey, I'm Brendon," with your own polite smile, on the off chance that he's gay. It's not a very large chance, considering you live in a town with barely a thousand people, and where everyone who's gay already knows each other, because, hey, survival of the fittest, y'know?

You internally cringe when he speaks back to you. He sounds like a _hick._ You know that you live in Idaho, and you know the stereotypes--it's a redneck state, focused on potato farming, but that's not true. It's in the north, Pacific Northwest to be specific, and everyone tends to sound like they're from California. At least until you start venturing into small towns. This guy sounds like he's from some bible belt state like Alabama or something.

He shakes your hand back and introduces himself as well. "Dallon. Nice to meet ya." If it wasn't for the drawl, you'd say his voice was _hot._

You're the kind of guy who digs himself into holes. It's not intentional, you swear, but you just have this tendency to say things, and get yourself into situations you can't get out of, at least not easily. You chat with this _Dallon_ guy, and by the time your bus is arriving, you're saying, "Do you want to go out for coffee sometime?" There's only, like, three diners in the Minidoka-Cassia area that serve good coffee, but you still ask.

"Sounds fun."

You hand him a sharpie from the back pocket of your jeans, and he writes his phone number onto your arm. You also notice that he's left handed. It's not an overly interesting fact, but it's a fact nonetheless.

 

You save Dallon's number to your phone, but you don't do anything with it. You mostly just asked him if he'd like to get coffee as some sort of defense mechanism. You didn't want to seem rude. You have an anxiety disorder, alright?

 _Anyways,_ you have no intention on doing anything with his phone number, at least until you're getting your mail a week later, on your day off. Your apartment complex has fifteen different apartments, and everyone gets their mail from the same set of mailboxes, three rows of five. You stand there for a few minutes, sorting your mail into three sections, bills, junk, and miscellaneous, when you feel the back of someone's hand gently hitting you in the arm. Like, really gently. You still jump, though, and look to your right. It's the _Dallon_ guy. "You're not stalking me, are you?" you mumble. You're still tired. You woke up, like, ten minutes ago.

"Nah. Don't have the smarts f'that." You watch him as he unlocks his own mailbox with a small key, the one everyone gets upon moving in. He's hot, along with, like, good looking in general. He's not wearing a shirt, and you sort of want to drool at his _muscles._ He's not body builder muscular, but he's muscular in the way that people get from working. Given the drawl in his voice, you're going to guess that he grew up on a farm. That's not uncommon for people here.

"Doesn't take a lot of smarts," You mutter. "All you really need to know to stalk someone is their full name. Though, I think my address on Whitepages still says I live in Boise, so maybe I'd be hard to stalk."

"I can barely manage to navigate my phone. What makes y'think I have the capacity to do all that?" He quirks a brow at you, and casts you a bit of a sideways glance. _God,_ he's hot. He has _stubble_ and his hair is _messy_ and he's so _hot._ You keep repeating, _"Please be gay, please be gay,"_ to yourself every time you look at him.

You decide to take another 'risk.' "Are you busy later? If you're not busy I figure I'd follow up on my promise of coffee." Maybe this guy isn't as bad as you're making him out to be. You associate 'southern drawl' with, like... Well, basically, you make it a point not to befriend anyone with a southern drawl. You can't quite explain why.

He puts on a thinking face, acting as if he's, you guessed it, thinking, before giving you another sweet and polite smile. "I don't have anythin' planned, so I don't see why not. What time were you thinkin'?"

"Ten, probably. Dunno when Wayside opens, but ten is probably a safe bet." You shrug a little sheepishly. Leaving at ten gives you a few hours to, like, wake up, and get dressed and all that. "Or we could go to Starbucks or Dutch Bros, but we'd have to go to Twin Falls for that." You ramble when you're nervous. Cute boys make you nervous.

"Starbucks is a lil spendy, don't ya think?" He quirks his brow at you again.

"Okay, you're right. I don't get paid enough to get Starbucks. Um. Your choice, I guess." _God, I need to shut up before he starts hating me or something._

"Wayside is fine. Won't drain your wallet like driving to Twin would. I live in 2A."

You nod, smile a bit, and make your exit. Apartment 2A. You live, like, right next door to him. How have you never seen him before?

 

"Why'd you take a bus if you have a car?" Dallon asks, looking around curiously. He's not being nosy, but he's acting as if your car is the most interesting thing alive.

"I like to take public transportation when I can. Saving the environment and all that."

"Huh." Dallon shrugs, and you're about half way from your apartment to the cafe you're taking him to when he asks, "What does 'coffee' mean?"

"Well, they get coffee beans from, like, whatever plant makes coffee, then they grind those beans up, and, like, do something else, then bam. You have coffee."

"Smart ass. I meant what are we doin'?" Dallon laughs softly. "Not often a man asks another man out to coffee."

 _Go big or go home, I guess--_ "I kind of think you're cute, and I asked you if you'd want to get coffee with me on the off chance you're gay. I can take you back to your apartment if you want."

"I haven't been on a date in a while," Dallon muses. You glance at him.

"Yeah?"

"Yep. I think the last time I went on a date I was eighteen."

"How old are you now?"

"I turn thirty in a month. How 'bout you?" You glance to your right again to see that he's looking at you with this adorably curious little look. This Dallon guy is very cute.

"I turned twenty seven last week."

"No shit?" He grins. "That's pretty awesome. Did ya have a wild party?"

You snort. "I'd need friends and a family that didn't see me as a disappointment to do that." You're bitter and you're cynical and you run your mouth a lot.

"I feel you there. Oh, what with being queer and from a family of very devout Mormons."

"Ha. My parents don't even give a shit that I'm gay."

"Pa decked me square in the jaw when I told 'im. He busted my lip, y'know."

"What an asshole."

"Can't argue with ya."


	8. Chapter 8

**premise:** im gay i guess? dom/sub shit is nice??/ this is one of my more recent brallon fics that i didnt finish

*

Dallon likes to think of himself as a simple man. He doesn't need much in life--as long as he has his record collection and a comfortable bed, he's happy.

Well, at least up until he's not.

It's not as if one day he suddenly decides he's bored and needs something exciting to happen to him; it's more like, over time, everything grows stale to him, kind of like a bag of Cheetos left open over the weekend while you're out of town. Life in general can get _stale_ if it stays the same for too long, he thinks.

He _does_ decide that he's bored and that things need to change, though, after a girlfriend breaks up with him for a reason that basically boils down to, _"You're boring, and I'm not getting anything out of this. Sex is always the same--missionary, and never before nine at night, or after eight in the morning, you always cook the same five meals, and for the love of god--change up the decor once in awhile, would ya?"_

***

"What do you think I should do, though...? Am I really _that_ boring?" Dallon's stirring his coffee with a straw, and frowning into it, pouting just a little bit. "I mean... I know that sometimes relationships can hit a lull... but is that so bad? Is it so bad for things to just be calm once in awhile?"

"It's not bad, but it gets kind of grating sometimes," Josh mumbles back to him. It's eight in the morning, and they decided to go get coffee together before either of them have work. "I mean, I know I wouldn't have ever been able to work my shit out with my own partner if things were always boring and tame. Sometimes it's good to have some spontaneity. I think when people get into long term relationships, kind of like the one you had with your ex, they forget that it's not bad to be random and wild. I know you're kind of, ah... Kind of a milk toast type of guy, but I think you could stand to get someone a bouquet of roses once in awhile."

"I just... would forget to do stuff like that. I thought me and her were doing fine, and it kind of upset me when she dumped me because I'm _boring._ And you're calling me milk toast. Am I really that boring, dude?"

"Well, as someone who's been your best friend since high school, I'd have to say so."

"If I'm being honest with you... I _have_ actually been a little bored with life lately. I also wasn't really getting anything out of my last relationship, and--ugh. This is a talk we should probably have in the evening when we're not surrounded by a bunch of college students on their way to their morning classes."

Josh chuckles a little bit. "You're right. You want me to come over this evening?"

"Chinese?"

"Nah. I'll get something different. You need to spice your life up a bit, and getting the same take out that we always do isn't a good way to start."

***

Dallon and Josh split a plate of nachos from the Mexican restaurant a few blocks from Dallon's condo. They're good nachos and they're definitely a change of pace, so Dallon isn't complaining.

 _"Sooo,_ now that we're here... Let's have that talk that leads to me somehow trying to help you fix your boring life up." Josh sits in a weird position, and wiggles his eyebrows at his friend, and Dallon just starts laughing at him, because, god, he's kind of insufferable when he wants to be.

"Sit like a normal person, then we'll talk."

"Fine, fine." Josh rolls his eyes and sits like a normal person.

"Did I explain the entire reason she broke up with me, or no?"

"You just cried on the phone to me for an hour while you were drunk, so... I didn't really catch much, other than you got dumped."

"Well, like I said, she was _bored._ Neither of us were getting anything out of our relationship, the _sex_ was boring, apparently, and she complained because I only like having sex past a certain time, because I--I dunno--I haven't exactly been that sexually active with anyone--and she complained about me not knowing how to make anything other than the five dishes I learned how to make in undergrad, and she even insulted how I decorate my home. Like, I'm sorry, but my condo is _fine._ I love my condo."

"So... Basically... you're vanilla, like, _super_ vanilla, you can't cook for shit, and your apartment needs to be rearranged. Is that it...?"

"I _guess."_ Dallon dips a chip in guacamole, and crams it into his mouth, frowning and crossing his legs, glaring at a spot on the table. "I kind of agree with her, at least on the sex and food thing. Mostly on the sex thing. I'm so fucking _bored_ of only doing _missionary_ before bed, and _occasionally_ in the morning if I wake up early enough for a quickie before work. At the beginning of our relationship, sometimes we'd--we'd do stuff on the couch, or over the counter in the bathroom, but then it just got so fucking stale, and it started kinda feeling like a chore."

Josh nods thoughtfully, and the two of them sit there in silence while Josh thinks of something. Eventually, Josh starts... saying something. "I want you to hear me out, but... have you ever... dabbled in BDSM...? Like, at all...?"

"Not beyond trying to spank a few of the girls I was with, then feeling bad about it immediately after and apologizing profusely, thus ruining the mood. Why...?"

"I--I know someone, and they're, uh, looking for... well, nothing serious, romantically at least, but... basically a fuck buddy, I guess...?"

"Oh, dude, I can't try that shit again. I'm not the dreamboat daddy dom that every girl wants me to be." Dallon shakes his head, and burps a little bit.

"I know you're not. I'm not saying that you should be. In fact, I'm suggesting the exact opposite."

"I'm not into pegging, either."

Josh rolls his eyes. "I said hear me out, you asshole. So... On a _totally_ unrelated note... did you ever get your 'gay phase' out of the way?"

"You're full of shit, _but... '_ Gay phase, _'_ as in...?"

"As in, have you ever tried, uh... doing anything with a dude before?"

"Is this another situation where you're going to try setting me up with a dude that, even if I were gay, I wouldn't be interested in?"

"No, no. I'm not trying to force you to be gay or anything." Josh waves his hand a little bit. "It's not like that. I know a _guy_ who's, like... into some kinky stuff and who wants someone to do kinky stuff with him. I'm, like, _not_ into any of that BDSM stuff at all, so I don't _quite_ know what he's looking for, but he's nice enough and he's not like any of the other guys I've tried introducing you to."

"So, he's not some brutal bear?"

"Dude, no. Back in the day he was... kind of a huge twink...? The Gremlin refers to him as a 'twunk,' so, like... a mix between a hunk and a twink. Mostly twink, though."

"Is that what we're calling Tyler, now? 'The Gremlin?'"

"He earned that title. _Trust me."_ Josh gives him a grave look, and shudders, before continuing. "How about it?"

"I don't know, Josh. He's not going to try _fucking_ me as soon as I meet him, is he? Given I agree to meet him in the first place, of course."

"Absolutely not. He's kind of a dick, but he has manners, dude. I don't know how to describe him other than you just--you gotta meet him to, like, _understand_ the enigma that he is, y'know?"

Dallon nods. "If you think it's a good idea, I'm up to meet up with him, I guess."

Josh smirks, and pats Dallon on the back. "Atta boy."

***

When Dallon agreed to meet Josh's mystery kinky guy, he thought they'd meet up at a restaurant or something and get to know each other, but when Josh texts him an address, one that's obviously a residential address,he almost just doesn't go. He knows how it feels to get stood up, though, so he still drives himself from Glendale to Malibu anyways.

He doesn't know what to expect. He's half expecting for Josh to have lied to him, for the beefiest body builder looking dude, dressed up like the mental image you'd get if someone said, 'Leather daddy,' to you, to answer the door, but... that's literally the exact opposite of who actually answers the door.

This _guy._

Up until this moment, Dallon's considered himself fairly straight.

Right now, though, he's pretty fucking attracted to men, or at least _this_ man.

He doesn't even know how to describe the attraction, other than this man is just so _pretty._ He's only wearing a pair of boxers, which... probably has something to do with why Dallon's so attracted to him right now, but even then... He's built nice and lean, kind of like a runner, or a swimmer, maybe, and his hair, which is dark and brown and sort of fluffy yet damp looking is falling into his face. He looks unimpressed as he states, "You're early," in a somewhat catty tone.

"Uh--is that--is that a problem...?"

He sighs, and scrubs his hand down his face. "I was expecting you in ten minutes. Not now. I'm running a little late, otherwise I probably wouldn't have said anything. Uh. Come in, I guess." He steps aside, and once Dallon steps over the threshold of the house, the guy reaches behind him and closes the door. "Take your shoes off. You can set your keys in that basket right there," he points to a small basket sitting on top of a table next to his door, "and... I think that's it. I'm going to finish getting dressed. Go in there," He points to his living room, which is plainly visible from the foyer, "sit on the couch, don't move and don't snoop."

This guy--whatever his name is--is kind of... bossy, as Dallon has noticed. He listens to him, though, and sits on the couch, a little awkwardly, reading a thread on Twitter, while he waits.

When the guy returns he's wearing a fairly simple outfit--a slightly over sized sweatshirt and decent jeans, and... God. With Dallon's newfound attraction for men, he's finding that he, apparently, likes how this guy's feet look in black socks. They look _cute_ for some god forsaken reason. "Did I ever tell you my name, or did I just forget that?"

"You forgot," Dallon tells him.

"Well, shit. Serves me right for waiting until the last minute to shower." The guy rolls his eyes. "Uh. I'm Brendon." He steps forward, and holds his hand out to Dallon, who stands up to shake it, wanting to seem proper.

"Dallon." Dallon shakes his hand firmly, and prays he's making a good first impression. "I'm so sorry for showing up early, man. I was gonna wait to leave, but, honestly, uh... I was kind of bored sitting in my condo." He curses himself for rambling a bit, but Brendon just nods and smiles, understandingly, and, okay. Jeez. He's charming.

"That's fine. At least I know you listen to directions." He then winks, and starts giggling at the somewhat mortified look he gets from Dallon. "I'm just yankin' ya, dude. Um. So--it's probably, like, weird, that I invited you to my house, but... I'm personally more comfortable here, because I have more control of the situation, for the most part." He explains all of that as he's sitting on the other end of his couch from Dallon. "Do you... have any questions...?"

"What exactly are we supposed to be doing? Um--Josh kind of sucks at relaying messages. He just gave me your address and didn't say anything else."

"Jesus, he sucks. Uh. I _did_ tell him to tell you that I do have a few questions to ask you, and that, at the least, my plans for this evening included watching a movie with you and hanging out, getting to know each other and shit. He did mention that you've--you've never...?"

"Never...?" Dallon motions for him to go on.

"Well, that you've never done any, and I'm quoting him verbatim here, 'kinky shit?'" Brendon quirks an eyebrow at Dallon, obviously curious.

"Oh, I mean, I've--I've _tried_ doing kinky stuff before, but it didn't work out, I guess...?"

"Can I ask why not?"

"I don't know. A few girls I've slept with have wanted me to try doing kinky stuff with them, but I... I just wasn't into it...? And I'm not talking anything _super_ kinky, but, like, more or less vaguely vanilla shit, I guess. I've tried--I've tried _spanking_ a few girls before, but it just makes me feel bad and kind of like crying because I don't--I don't like inflicting pain on people. Also, feel free to tell me to shut up if I'm talking too much."

"How would you feel about someone inflicting pain on _you?"_ Brendon's rather blunt, and Dallon is definitely thrown off by it.

"I haven't really thought about it, I guess," he mumbles. "I just know I'm not the dreamboat daddy dom that a lot of girls want me to be."

"You keep saying 'girls' a lot. Are you _straight?"_

"You know what? That's a very good question, actually. I have considered it, and before today, I would've told you, without a doubt in my mind, that, yes, I am straight, but I'm learning at the moment that I'm _really_ not."

Brendon's eyebrows go up. "Oh? And why's that?"

"You--" Dallon whistles lowly. "--you're _very_ attractive, and I mean that in the least weird way possible."

Brendon smiles a little bit. "Thanks for the ego boost. You're not half bad yourself. Why are you here? You thought you were straight, yet you came here, knowing I'm a dude, and you're also _very_ inexperienced in the world of BDSM, or so it seems, and _yet..._ you're here, on my couch."

"Well--I just--I got out of a sort of unhealthy relationship lately, and I don't mean abusive or anything--we just weren't a good match, and neither of us were getting anything out of it--and--and I had a conversation with Josh about it, because some of the stuff that happened in my conversation with her _bugged_ me, and he suggested that, maybe, I should try something _new."_

"What happened in your conversation with her that made you seek me out?"

"She thinks I'm boring in bed, and I have to agree. We never--we _never_ did anything before nine at night, or after eight in the morning, let alone try any new _positions_ or anything. Before she confronted me about it, I never really questioned my _life,_ or how I am, but Josh even described me as 'milk toast' and that's... It kind of offended me. I can't be _that_ boring, y'know? Point is--Josh suggested I try something _new,_ and according to him, 'new' meant meeting up with a _guy_ and finding a--" Dallon stammers, and cuts himself off, since he's a little flustered.

"A _dom?_ You can say it dude."

"Well, _yeah._ A dom, I guess. It's weird and impractical when I think about it too much, but at the same time--what do I have to lose, y'know?"

"That's fair, dude. Uh... have you _ever_ tried anything with a guy before? At all?"

"I kissed Josh once in high school, and I've gone on a few dates with guys, but... it's never lead to anything. To be fair... Josh kept trying to introduce me to these, like, buff leather daddy types... which, even if I were gay, wouldn't be my type."

"What about me makes me your type?"

"You're cute, and you're non-threatening. You don't, uh... seem that intimidating to me, except--except now, since you're, like, giving me that stern look because of what I just said."

Brendon snorts and drops the stern look. "So... Did he at least tell you to go get tested for STDs? Because... that's something that's important to me. I don't--I personally wouldn't care if you had something, because I'm more than educated on safe sex, but full disclosure is something that I value highly."

"He didn't, actually, but I went and got tested anyways, just in case," Dallon tells him. "Uh." He stands up again, and reaches into his back pocket for a stack of papers he folded into fourths. He hands them to Brendon after he's unfolded them. "Those are my results. Completely negative."

Brendon skims the papers, before handing them back, and reaches towards his coffee table to hand another packet towards Dallon. "Those are mine."

Dallon does more than skim them. He reads them thoroughly, and it doesn't take him too long before he's setting that packet back onto Brendon's coffee table.

"So... obviously, tonight... we're not going to be fucking our brains out, or participating in any intense scenes, given you've obviously never done anything with another dude before, and also given you've... never done anything even remotely kinky. _Usually_ I don't do anything with first-timers, but you're... charming, I suppose. I do also want to disclose that, at the moment, I'm not looking for a serious romantic relationship, _but,_ if, by chance, we wind up going in that direction, I'm not against it. I'm just saying that that's not my intention, right off the bat, at least."

Dallon nods, understanding, mostly. "Are we... gonna do _anything?"_

"I'd like to, if you're alright with that. Do you have anything right off the bat that you know you're not down to do tonight, or things you're, in general, not okay with?"

"Scat, and any permanent injuries basically cover the whole kit and caboodle of things I'm _never_ okay with, and, uh... I'm probably not down to... y'know. Get, ah...."

"Not down to...?" Brendon chooses this moment to lean closer to Dallon, head tilting just a little bit, waiting for him to finish.

"To get fucked...?" Dallon can feel his cheeks burning.

"Cute. You're blushing. That's fair enough, man. I do feel like we'd need to know each other for a little bit before even I'd be comfortable doing that. Also, I'm on the same page as you with the scat and the permanent injuries stuff. So... now that that's out of the way... what's your safe-word?"

"My safe word...?" Dallon feels like he's fourteen again; a big fat _virgin._

"Oh, _jeez._ You really are new to this. Safe words are like--say we're doing a scene, and you're not okay with it, or you're panicking or you're hurt, or you're not, like, completely _with me--_ you say it, the scene stops, and we're, like, _done_ doing whatever we were doing, and then I'd make sure you're alright, and if you weren't, I'd take care of you."

"Oh. Um." Dallon thinks for a moment before saying the first word that pops into his head. "Rosanna."

"By Toto?"

"Cover by Weezer." Dallon smirks a little bit, hoping he gets it, and indeed, he does. Brendon grins at him.

"Fuck yeah, dude. Weezer rocks. Mine's California."

Dallon's a little shocked to find out that Brendon has one. "Sorry if I sound stupid, but, uh... why do you need one?"

"Hey, sweetie, you don't sound stupid at all." Oh, _god,_ the pet name. Dallon wants to cringe, he does, but he can't, because he kind of _likes_ _it._ "Feel free to ask me any questions at all. I'd rather you know than _not_ know. Mostly it's because I have anxiety. Sometimes I get overwhelmed and need to stop. There's also times that I get a little _too_ into it and that can be dangerous for me or my partners. Both of those scenarios have happened before, and I wouldn't be surprised if they happened again."

Dallon nods, because... "That makes sense."

"Awesome. Anywho... how about that movie?"

The movie.

Right.

Dallon completely forgot about that, and almost wants to whine, because he was sort of hoping that this conversation was leading to something. "Uh, yeah, man. The movie."

***

Dallon's pretty sure that Brendon picked a boring movie on purpose. They're maybe a third of the way into some romantic comedy starring Ryan Reynolds from the mid 2000's when he feels Brendon's hand on his knee. It stays there, on Dallon's knee, for a good bit. Occasionally Brendon swirls his thumb in a circle, which Dallon can feel through his jeans.

His hand starts moving _up,_ though, and Dallon's gotten enough hand jobs to where he's spreading his legs apart a little bit. Brendon swats his thigh, saying, "Sit still," quiet yet firm, eyes never leaving the TV.

Dallon sort of gets the vibe that he's supposed to listen to him, so... he listens. He sits still, even when Brendon's hand is high up on the inside of his thigh. Dallon's clenching the toes on his right foot together, trying not to move or to make any sudden noises, because his thighs are _sensitive,_ and they're free real estate when it comes to the not so complicated art of getting him turned on.

Brendon squeezes, _hard,_ and Dallon can definitely feel the tingly rush of arousal heading straight for his dick.


	9. Chapter 9

**premise:** sugar daddy dallon ALSO THIS FIC IS LITERALLY WHY I QUIT WRITING FOR BRALLON BECAUSE I HAD 10K WORDS WRITTEN FOR IT THEN LIBREOFFICE FUCKING CORRUTPED THE FILE AND I COULDNT RECOVER IT AND I CRIED AND REWROTE 2K THEN GAVE THE FUCK UP BECAUSE NO ONE WAS GONNA READ IT ANYWAYS LOL

*

"Spencer, for the last fucking _time--_ I don't want a sugar daddy." Brendon makes sure to put his microphone close to his mouth so that his statement is loud and fucking _clear._ He sets his mic back down, and keeps talking afterward.

 _"You've made me well aware. I'm just saying that perhaps you could try it out. It wouldn't be the end of the world if you had a sugar daddy. I mean, you're already desperate for money at this point, and this is the only thing you haven't tried. Shit--I even have a site you could try."_ Spencer sends a link to Brendon as he says that, and Brendon groans very, _very_ loudly. _"Maybe you'll meet a cute millionaire willing to pay you a few bucks to suck him off. That wouldn't be too bad. You really do enjoy sucking dick."_

"I suck dick, for free, because I enjoy it. Not because I want money."

 _"Okay, but imagine it--you're participating in your favorite pastime,_ and _you're getting paid for it."_ Brendon really hates how convincing Spencer sounds.

He also hates that he's clicking on the link. "I'll _try it_ for a week. If I don't meet anyone, then I'm done, alright?"

_"Alright, man. It's a deal."_

The website is a lot more subtle than Brendon thought it would be. He was expecting flashy, obnoxious, bubbly pink lettering or something insane like that, but instead he's met with a simple interface; one that's easy to navigate and understand. "It's giving me an option between man or woman. What do I pick?"

_"Pick man, dumbass. You can put somewhere that you're trans if you have to."_

"Fine. I'm a man who is a... sugar baby, definitely." Brendon clicks on the sugar baby option. "Interested in... Men, women, or both. I'm going to just pick men for now." Brendon uses his school email when it asks for his email, since it's offering him a 'free upgrade.' He's always down to get free stuff. "It says not to use my real name. I mean, I wouldn't in the first place, but... Jesus. What should I use?"

_"Just use, like, your Twitter name or something. I dunno. Twitter's the one you set to 'pidginprince,' right?"_

"Tumblr, actually, but fine." Brendon goes quiet for ten minutes or so after that, since he's supposed to fill out a description about himself. He takes a screenshot, and sends it to Spencer, asking for feedback. (He also sends a handful of pictures of himself, all of which have his face covered up by an emoji, and asks Spencer to pick the one that looks best.)

***

_**pidginprince** _

_M, 21 years old, Las Vegas._

_FTM. Always down to have a good time. Currently struggling to get through college._

_PM me if you're interested in working something out :)_

***

 **spoon** \- 5:57 PM

Mom walked into my room, sorry. Had to mute my mic.

That looks good, dude. Also, I think the third picture works best.

 

 **bread** \- 5:58 PM

That's cool, bro. I need to get off Discord and go get myself something to eat anyways, if that's alright. Thanks for the feedback. Also, you're still on my shitlist for making me do this, but I do love you, dude. Bros for life.

 

 **spoon** \- 5:59 PM

Hells yeah.

***

Brendon has a toothbrush in his mouth, and is, y'know, brushing his teeth while watching something on his phone when he gets an email notification from the site Spencer made him sign up on a few days ago. He taps on the notification, and skims the email. All it says is that someone sent him a message, and then it links him to the app store so he can download their app.

He does exactly that -- he downloads the app, signs in, and then looks at his messages. He doesn't read the message right away, of course. He presses on the dude's icon, and almost chokes on toothpaste, because, _fuck--_ this dude is hot.

He also giggles a little bit at the dude's description.

***

_**secondboys** _

_M, 37 years old, Henderson._

_Musician. Genius. Husband. Father. Son. Brother. Mother. Daughter. Sister. Cousin. Obscure uncle who you've only met once or twice at Thanksgiving. Aunt. Grandfather._

***

 **bread -** 5:15 AM

_screenshot.png_

Got my first bite. I'm gonna message him. His description is making me laugh like a fucking idiot. I don't know why. He's so dreamy. Fuck me.

***

**secondboys**

Hello

 

**pidginprince**

Hey. :)

 

**secondboys**

Good morning! I wasn't expecting a response right away, lol. How are you?

 

**pidginprince**

Brushing my teeth at the moment. I have class in about an hour.

 

**secondboys**

Sounds fun.

To clarify -- you do use he & him pronouns, right?

 

**pidginprince**

That's correct, yes.

I'm transgender. I am a man.

 

**secondboys**

I just wanted to check before I made an ass out of myself, haha. I am not trans, so I do apologize in advance if I have any foot in mouth moments.

 

**pidginprince**

It's cool, dude. No need to apologize yet :)

I do appreciate that you're so concerned. It's oddly flattering.

So, thank you. How's your morning?

 

**secondboys**

Pretty good, actually! I just got off of a flight a few hours ago, because I have an event to go to this weekend.

Which is why I have messaged you.

 

**pidginprince**

Oh? Please, do tell.

You've piqued my curiosity.

 

**secondboys**

My older brother is getting married this weekend. It's his third marriage, so I doubt I really need to live up to anything, but, I have managed to dig myself into a hole. I may or may not have mentioned to my family that I'm seeing someone, since I'm tired of them asking me when _I'm_ going to get married to someone. Point is, I kind of need someone to pretend to be my boyfriend for a night.

 

**pidginprince**

It's been awhile since I've been to a wedding. Um, honestly, I'm down to clown. You need someone to go to a wedding with you, and I'm totally down to be that someone, y'know?

Also, I haven't, ah, ever really done anything like this before. I only signed up on this site in the first place because I'm having trouble keeping up with my rent.

 

**secondboys**

So, you're interested, correct?

 

**pidginprince**

Yes. Very interested.

 

**secondboys**

Alright, sweet. Uh.

So... Stop me if I'm getting ahead of myself, by the way, but I was thinking that we could meet up tomorrow or Friday, and go and get coffee or something, so we can vet each other out, and make sure everything is kosher before the wedding. Are you busy tomorrow or Friday?

 

**pidginprince**

Nope. My schedule is wide open.

 

**secondboys**

Cool. Do you want to discuss payment at all...?

 

**pidginprince**

I'm not against the idea.

 

**secondboys**

Would $500 for the night work? I can give you more if you need me to, I guess.

 

**pidginprince**

That's perfect, actually. Lord knows I need the money lmfao.

I need to go get dressed, but I'll keep in touch. Maybe we can hash out the details a bit more this evening? :)

 

**secondboys**

Alright! :) I need to catch up on sleep, but yeah. Send me a message when you're free and we can discuss more.

***

Brendon's on the phone with Spencer while he's tidying up his apartment that evening. "Anyways, the guy offered me five hundred dollars just to go to a wedding with him. Like... What the fuck, y'know? I talked to him a few hours ago, and he said he didn't expect any sexual favors from me, which shocked me. I mean, technically the terms on that site said that no illegal activities were to be discussed, but still. We're supposed to meet tomorrow for coffee, mostly so I can make sure he's not a fucking creep. I mean... he _is_ almost twice my age, but I honestly don't care."

_"At least you're finally making some coin."_

***

 _The guy_ turns out to be... more than Brendon could have hoped for. Sure, he could still turn out to be a massive fucking asshole, but their little meeting over coffee goes pretty well. He's way taller than Brendon expected him to be, which is more than alright with him. He's also way prettier, and way more handsome in person, and Brendon tells him that the pictures he chose for the website don't do him any justice. He just laughs and pays Brendon the same respects.

Brendon does take the time to ask a few questions of his own. "So... are you actually married with kids or anything like that? I don't know how much of your description on the site is bullshit, but, ah, I'm honestly not very... enthusiastic about cheating, I guess...?"

"Absolutely not. If I wasn't single, we wouldn't be here. My entire description is bullshit, except for the musician part." He laughs a little bit, and stirs his drink with his straw before taking a sip of it. "I think I mentioned that I dug myself into a hole. My family thinks I've been dating some guy for months now, and I don't have the heart to explain that I'm full of shit and just wanted them off my back. Speaking of--can you try acting like we've been together for at least a few months, or something...? Just to make it more convincing, I guess."

"I can do that, yeah. I can ham it up with the PDA a little bit if that'd work. Also... you're thirty seven, right? How's your family going to react to you supposedly dating a twenty one year old?"

"My brother is forty five, and if _he_ can marry a twenty year old, I can fake date twenty one year old. That's my defense, were anyone to actually question me, which I doubt anyone _would._ "

"Fair enough, man. I was just trying to, ah, think ahead."

***

**pidginprince**

[image attached]

Which one of these suits would work best?

 

**secondboys**

The black one. If you have a navy blue tie, wear that. Also, white dress shirt would be preferable.

 

**pidginprince**

[image attached]

I do happen to have a navy blue tie. Here's the outfit so far. Thoughts?

 

**secondboys**

It looks great! Sorry if I'm being too nitpicky about anything. I have a not at all surprising need to impress my family, despite the fact I'm in my late thirties.

 

**pidginprince**

That's alright :)

Sometimes families can be kind of scary. Mine sure as shit isn't the best, lol.


	10. Chapter 10

**premise:** hh.... famous brendon? introspective on drug addiction ig?

*

**July**

\---

There's only one way to describe the way he's feeling, and if you asked him, Brendon would say that, right now, he feels like he's on top of the fucking world. He just _nailed_ the last note of the night, and he's standing in a pose reminiscent of Superman, rest his soul, with his mic gripped tightly in his left hand. He lets his eyes drift shut, head held towards the sky, sweat dripping down his body. This is the last show of his tour, at least until the next round of touring, which won't be for at least a year.

\---

Money can buy a big house and money can buy a sense of financial security but money can't buy the feeling of being at home. As soon as he's stepping foot over the threshold of his home, tucked away nice and cozy in a gated subdivision in the middle of bumfuck Nevada, he feels dejected.

He knows he should be glad to be home, glad to be done with touring, but everything about this fucking house feels _off._ Nothing feels right. He doesn't have a girlfriend (or a boyfriend) to come home to, given his last girlfriend left him a few weeks before the round of touring he just finished, so he's on his own to drag his suitcase up to his bedroom, and to just let it sit by the door for months rather than putting all of his clothes away like a normal person.

\---

**August**

\---

Brendon always tries his best to take breaks from writing and working on music, only to realize a few weeks in that writing is his way of venting, plus his main source of income when it comes down to it, and that's why he finds himself up at four in the fucking morning in the middle of his back yard with a two dollar, one hundred and eighty sheet, college ruled notebook on his right thigh, and a pink G-2 pen clenched in his right hand, scribbling down phrases and lines, some of which tie together into verses and stanzas.

He's cocky and he takes pride in being a musical prodigy. A lot of pride. Too much pride, actually. So much pride that he finds himself ripping a sheet out of his notebook, crumpling it up, and pelting it across his back yard with a bit of a screech, since nothing he's writing is working out properly. If he's supposed to be _good_ at this, then why is everything that's bleeding onto the page a bunch of _rubbish?_

\---

The cool part about living in Las Vegas is that there's a fairly steady supply of coke. Brendon's used to working upwards of eighteen hour days, sometimes more, and a lot of people don't understand _why_ musicians do so much drugs, but working eighteen hours a day, every single fucking day, takes a toll on someone, and Brendon's the furthest thing from a saint.


	11. Chapter 11

**premise:** another vent fic am i fucking ok

***

**One Day After**

***

You close your eyes, letting the sun warm your body. You're sitting on a friend's patio, in a lawn chair, with a mug of tea between your hands, and one of your jackets draped over your shoulders. The gravity of your situation hasn't really begun to sink in yet. You don't think you're going to be able to handle it once it does. Right now, you're more than happy to obliviously drink your shitty Lipton tea while watching the sun rise.

***

**Four Years Before**

***

College sucks. College really sucks. You want to be a musician with everything in you, more than anything else, but your parents talked you into going to college. You aren't going to Harvard or anything insane like that--just a shitty community college in Utah. Your plan, at the moment, is to just get a degree in something sensible, before trying to pursue music.

And, really, it's a good plan. You're a good student. You got straight A's all throughout middle school and high school and your parents are more than happy to pay for your tuition. They're both doctors who make six figures, separately, so, _really,_ it's not like they can't afford to shill out twenty grand a year for you to go to college without giving up their quality of life.

They even agree with that statement, at least up until you get caught in your bedroom with another boy. You're halfway through your first semester of college at this point, and, truly, the situation is a mess.

You're a sex after marriage kind of guy, usually. You think sex is something that shouldn't be taken lightly, and you think that it's something that should be shared with someone that you're close to--say, a long-term partner, or a spouse. That doesn't change the fact that you're eighteen, horny, and questioning your sexuality, and truth be told, you're not a saint. You met this guy on some dating site, and you figured it couldn't hurt to experiment. He has his hand down your pants when your mom throws your bedroom door open.

What happens from there includes a lot of yelling, crying from both you and your mom, your dad slaps you and yells at you, and, basically, you have a month to pack your shit and find somewhere else to live.

Over the course of that month, you meet another guy. You mostly just have plans to fuck around with him for that night and that night alone, but it ends up being more than that, as expected. He's older. Not that much older, but old enough to where he's definitely well out of college. He's wearing a decent suit and, honestly... he's pretty goddamn hot.

At eighteen you're the dictionary definition of _twink._ Maybe you're a little too tall, and maybe your haircut isn't the most twink haircut out there, and _maybe_ you could stand to wear some tighter jeans--point is, you're young, you're cute, you're _fuckable,_ and this guy sees that.

He invites you back to his place, and you agree without question like the naive kid you are. It's not like anything bad happens, really. He's good at having sex, and he doesn't _hurt_ you. It's as enjoyable as anyone's first time can be.

The real magic happens the next morning. You come stumbling out of his bedroom on your gangly, unbalanced, lanky eighteen year old legs, dressed in what you were wearing last night. He's in his kitchen picking at a salad and reading a newspaper and he gives you this stupid golden smile and asks if you want anything to eat. You have two weeks until you need to be out of your parents' house and they give you dirty looks whenever you eat from the fridge so, yeah, you'll take any chance to eat you can get.

He's totally cool about it. You end up just making yourself a sandwich and drinking from a glass of ice water. He's nice and asks you questions that seem simple enough and you don't know how to keep your mouth shut so you ramble a little too much and let slip that you don't have long before you need to be _out_ of your house. He asks why, and you explain that your parents caught you making out with another boy.

He seems sympathetic enough, and winds up going out on a limb for you. At eighteen, you don't question this in the slightest. He's just being nice. That's all it is. He offers to let you stay in the townhouse he owns in a part of Salt Lake City that's close to campus. He says he's a real estate agent, and that he occasionally rents out his houses, but that since you're in such a _dire_ situation, he's willing to let you stay for a reduced cost.

Which seems perfectly fucking reasonable to you.

***

Moving into that man's townhouse works out, somehow. Your grandma--she's such a lovely woman--is the only person in your family who doesn't pretty much cut off contact with you. She's so _chill._ She catches wind of what your parents are doing to you, and even though her talking to them doesn't work, she's more than happy to help you with rent, and to help you find decent furniture.

You don't have much, but you have a couch, a coffee table, and a bed, plus your toiletries, which is more than enough for you right now. You can still balance school and everything else without living with your parents, so, for now, it's ideal.

At least until you're


	12. Chapter 12

**premise:** hs sweethearts that break up

*

Your breakup with Brendon was arguably the worst breakup of your life, and you're freshly _divorced_ , for Christ's sake.

It wasn't anything groundbreaking, of course, but it still left you moderately emotionally scarred and riddled with a handful of intimacy issues not to mention burning resentment towards him for the longest time. The two of you were high school sweethearts, and even though you were stupid and eighteen you really thought you were in love with him, which is why it hurt more than anything when he dumped you the second you went off to college out of state.

***

Predictably, you reconnect with Brendon a few months after you file for divorce. (There's a dumb waiting period, but at the moment, you live _alone,_ and you're single.) You moved to Washington for a specific reason--you don't know anyone you went to high school with here.

It's been ten years since you last saw him at this point, and you think nothing of it when Spencer, your roommate from college, calls you up out of the blue one day, and asks you if you'd be interested in going on a blind date with someone. He knows you're single, and he's also well aware that you're not really looking for anything serious, especially given you just got out of an unhealthy marriage.

"I don't know. Who is she?"

 _"Well, Dal, that's the thing. She's, uh, actually a_ he. _I know you're straight and all, but he's super chill and he's one of my best friends. He's not looking for anything serious, same as you, and he said he'd be down to go on a casual date and see where it goes from there."_

"Dude, I'm, like, far from straight." You wedge your phone in between your shoulder and your ear, since you're slicing up a banana to put in your cereal. "First person I ever dated was a man. We were together for... awhile. Like... four years. Broke up after high school, though, because college and shit. It wasn't a great breakup. That's neither here nor there, though."

_"Oh, no shit? Never knew. Huh. Anyways. He's kind of like you--got divorced last year, and just wants someone to spend time with._ _He's super nice, almost to a fault, really, but I promise I'm not setting you up with an asshole. He also has, uh, anxiety? I don't--I don't have that, so I don't know how it works, but he wanted me to mention it when I talked to you, and wanted me to tell you to be gentle with him, I guess."_

"Gentle?"

_"Yeah, like, don't be an asshole, basically. He's usually fine, but he gets upset when people are mean to him. I don't mean upset as in a little peeved. Like... he cries."_

"I have anxiety, Spencer. I know how it works. I was just, uh, clarifying, I guess. So, he's nice, and he has anxiety? Is that all there is to him?"

_"Well, of course not. There's more to him, but you'll need to get to know him yourself._ _Are you up for it? If I set up a time and place, would you meet him?"_

"I don't have anything else to lose, so I don't see why not." You shrug, and you swap which ear and shoulder your phone is between before pouring milk onto your cereal and cramming a spoon into it. "I have shit to do the rest of this week, and I have a thing going on Saturday, but I'm free Sunday."

_"Perfect. Sunday's his day off. I'll text you the details later, man."_

So. That's how that goes. The phone call ends shortly after that, and by the time he's texting you details, it's three hours later and you're watching reruns of _It's Always Sunny._ The plans he sends you is that you're supposed to meet the mystery guy at a Chinese restaurant at ten in the morning on Sunday. You also receive specific instructions to wear your floral button up, and, really, if you had any hopes of not coming off as flamboyant, Spencer just ruined that for you.

***

You're sitting in a booth at the Chinese restaurant, reading something on your phone while you wait for Spencer's mystery guy to show up. Of course, his mystery guy happens to show up fifteen minutes late, apologizing profusely as he sits, organizing the silverware on his side of the table and making sure the salt and pepper shakers are nice and orderly.

He doesn't even look at you, and it's all you can do to just _stare_ at him, because, _Jesus,_ you haven't seen this man in a fucking decade. You don't even know what to think or what to do and in the middle of him apologizing, you just interrupt him and say, "What the _fuck_ are _you_ doing here?" You're shocked and your tone definitely conveys that.

At that, he looks up, and you swear you can see his skin go from a handsome olive shade to a sickly clammy ghostly white shade. (That's an exaggeration, of course, but he looks mortified, if anything.) _"Um..."_ He drawls, dumbly. "Shit."

You really don't know what to think right now. Your brain is imploding on itself. You don't even know how to feel--you were so _heartbroken_ the last time you saw him in person, and all of that's rushing back to you and suddenly you're no longer twenty eight and a moderately successful musician, but rather a weak kneed eighteen year old head over dick for his high school sweetheart.

"Should I--do you want me to leave...? Or...?" He's vaguely gesturing towards the exit.

"You know what? No." You turn your phone screen off, and place it next to where you set your sunglasses down. "Ignore what I said before. It was rude and came from a place of surprise."

To say the least, that lunch is awkward as _fuck,_ and as soon as it's over, and once you've paid for the meal and awkwardly exchanged phone numbers with him, you get the fuck out of there. It's not necessarily an unpleasant lunch, if you're being honest, but you weren't expecting to sit down and be forced to have a meal with someone you thought you hated so much.

***

 **Dallon:** Hey, thanks for setting me up my ex. Really appreciate it.

 **Spencer:** Dude, look, I'm sorry. It was an accident. I didn't know the two of you knew each other. Trust me, Brendon's already given me a fucking earful.

***

 **Dallon:** Sorry about the awkward lunch. Do you want to continue speaking, or go back to pretending neither of us exist?

 **Brendon:** It's fine. Not your fault, or mine. Also, I don't know. We didn't exactly leave off on a good note the last time we spoke before this.

 **Dallon:** I'm well aware. If we decide to continue speaking, I think we need to have a talk. I can't see anything happening without talking.

 **Brendon:** I agree, 100%.

***

The two of you don't speak over text again for another week, up until he texts you and asks if he can come over or something, since he's ready for that talk now.


	13. Chapter 13

**premise:** what happens in vegas bay bee

*

**Part I**

***

Brendon decides that he's a fucking idiot, an absolute buffoon, when he wakes up one morning with a beautiful man in his hotel bed, sleeping soundly with his face smushed into the fluffy hotel pillows, brown hair spread across the pillows, some of it falling into his face just so. Truly, this man is very beautiful, and Brendon wouldn't be against slyly waking the dude up if it wasn't for the fact that he's currently sat there, on the side of the bed, staring down at a legal document grasped in his hands, trying to convince himself that he didn't get married to whoever the fuck this guy, or kid, really, was last night while he was strung out on his annual coke binge.

Light from the window reflects off of his hand, and that's when he notices that, _for the love of god,_ he's wearing a fucking _wedding band. "Am I stupid? Am I actually fucking stupid?"_ He prays that it's fake, that it's not real, but a quick look at his bank account from his phone tells him that, nope, he really did dish out five hundred fucking dollars for a white gold wedding band. He turns around and looks at the kid's left hand, and, _Jesus,_ he really must've been strung out.

***

 **Brendon** : I have a situation that I might or might not need help with.

 **Josh** **:** What's the sitch bitch

 **Brendon** : You know how last night was my birthday and how, on my birthday, I like to get as fucked up as possible without dying?

 **Josh** **:** I'm not bailing you out.

 **Brendon** : if I was in jail I wouldn't be able to text you, dumbass.

 **Brendon** : Point is, I might or might not have blacked out for a period of time, and I might or might not be in a hotel with some kid, with a marriage certificate in my hands.

 **Josh** **:** Is he at least 18

 **Brendon** : From the looks of it, I sure as shit hope so. I don't think this would've been able to happen if he wasn't so idk. What do I do? Do you have any fatherly wisdom?

 **Josh** **:** I'm honestly stumped, my man. I have shit to do today, so, uh... I hope the married life suits you?

***

 _"Fucking_ _Josh_ _,"_ Brendon mutters under his breath as he turns his phone screen off, and gets up from the bed, stumbling towards where he left his clothes. _"Tabloids are going to have a fucking field day once this gets out,"_ he thinks to himself as he's pulling his underwear and his pants on. He doesn't feel like buttoning the shirt he wore last night, so he wears it kind of like a jacket, under his actual jacket, before he's sticking his foot into the middle of the kid's back, and shoving him over, saying, "Get the fuck up, asshole."

The kid whines, and curls up a little bit, pressing his palms against his forehead. "I'm _so_ tired," is all he has to say before attempting to get comfortable again.

Brendon has three younger siblings. He's used to waking people up, and has absolutely no sympathy whatsoever as he yanks the blanket off of the kid. "I couldn't give less of a shit. I have shit to do today, so you need to get up, give me your phone number or something, and then get the fuck out of here."

The kid turns to look at Brendon, and Brendon thinks that if their situation right now wasn't the plot to meet-cute romantic comedy, then maybe he'd take more than a few seconds to appreciate how beautiful this person truly is, but the two of them are still in Vegas, Brendon has a radio show to do in, like, an hour, and after that he needs to worry about getting a fucking divorce.

"Did we... _fuck?"_ If anything, the kid looks confused.

"I would assume so. Look, if you need me to, I can call you a cab or something."

"I live in Henderson," The kid states as he's standing up, and walking around the room to get his own clothes. Brendon has to admit--this dude can rock a pair of skinny jeans. There's a part of him that really wants to have sex with this guy--again--that he can actually remember, and he's half tempted to act on that thought, but then the kid's looking at his left hand, and asking, "What the fuck is this?"

"Were you--were you _high_ last night by any chance?"

"Of course I was. I'm always high on Friday. Are we...?"

Brendon hands him the marriage certificate, and just stands there awkwardly as the kid reads it.

"Oh, _fuck._ My mom's going to fucking _kill_ me."

"Your _mom?_ Do you still live with your parents or something?" At this point, Brendon's gathering up any _paraphernalia_ he left lying around the room, along with his keys and his sunglasses.

"No. Absolutely not. No, um, I mean... She's probably going to be pissed that, one, I got married without telling her, two, she didn't get invited to the wedding, and three, that I did it while fucked up on coke."

"You know what? Whatever. Fair enough." Brendon's talking a little too fast, and he's opening the door now, motioning for the kid to follow him. This kid-- _Dallon,_ according to the marriage certificate--is being at least fairly _cool_ about all of this, and he doesn't give Brendon any trouble as he's following him down the hall. "So, I have a... _thing_ to do in a few hours, so you--you need to figure something out. Go home, go somewhere, I don't know, nor do I care, but if I'm late, my manager is going to fucking _ream_ me."

"Your _manager?_ What, are you famous?"

"In a sense, yes."

"Cool. Well, I still have no idea who the fuck you are."

"How old are you? You're not, like, seventeen or something, are you?" Brendon's pressing the _close door_ button on the elevator pretty violently, even though he knows it won't do anything.

"No. I turn twenty two next month. You're not, like, fifty seven, are you?"

"Do I _look_ fifty seven to you?"

"Thirty five at the most."

"I turned thirty one yesterday," he grumbles as they're waiting out the elevator ride. _"Today's going to be a long fucking day,"_ Brendon thinks to himself.

**Part II**

***

 **Dallon:** I got married last night

 **Spencer:** I'm sorry--you what?

 **Dallon:** I was out with Ryan S--which was already a bad decision, given he has a knack for getting himself into trouble--and I met this guy and we we re both high as fuck last night and I just... got married to that guy I met. I don't even know why I'd do that. He's kind of an asshole.

 **Dallon:** He woke me up way too early and he wasn't nice about it, and he's been grumpy as fuck since then.

 **Spencer:** Are you at home

 **Dallon:** No

 **Dallon:** I don't know how else to explain this but. I'm sitting in the green room at some radio station.

 **Spencer:**... Why.

 **Dallon:** Because. The guy I just up and fucking married last night is a musician, who happens to have an interview today. I don't even know who he is. Like I know his name because I read the marriage certificate, but otherwise I just... have no idea who he is.

 **Spencer:** Who is he wtf

 **Dallon:** I don't know if I can tell you

 **Dallon:** Like I want to, but he made a comment about having a manager, and in the cab on the way here he made another comment about how he's glad Vegas has a relatively small amount of paps compared to, say, California. So. I don't know if I should say anything.

 **Spencer:** You know I wouldn't tell anyone

 **Spencer:** I'll only tell someone if you married, like, idk, Justin Timberlake

 **Dallon:** No he's too old for me

 **Dallon:** To be fair you could make the same argument about this guy.

 **Spencer:** Very fair.

 **Spencer:** Who is he

 **Dallon:** His name is Brendon Urie

 **Dallon:** Do YOU know who he is

 **Spencer:** LOL

 **Spencer:** Seriously? I went to high school with him.

 **Spencer:** He was a Junior when I was a freshman, and we had a few electives together. Small world. Jeez.

 **Dallon:** I don't know what I'm going to do

 **Dallon:** Part of me wants to just go with it because hey things happen the way they're supposed to, y'know? But the other part of me wants to just up and leave because oh my _god_ why did I do this? What do you think I should do?

 **Spencer:** I'd say deal with it like an adult. You're always wanting to learn how to be a proper adult, and dealing with this rather than running from it would be a good start. If your version of 'dealing with it' happens to be going with it and literally being this guy's _husband,_ then I say go for it. It's up to you. If it's getting divorced or getting it annulled then do that. Either way, I don't think running from it is a great idea.

 **Dallon:** Thanks for the honesty, man. I really appreciate it.

***

At the same time Dallon's saying, "I want an annulment," as Brendon's walking into the greenroom to presumably retrieve him and take him home or whatever, Brendon's saying, "We have a problem."

Brendon takes over the conversation. "No. You don't get to say _shit._ You see this?" Brendon holds his left hand up, and rotates the band around his ring finger. "I forgot to take it off. I had no idea that interview was going to be filmed, and I basically just ran my mouth and told the dude that I _eloped_ a few weeks ago. My manager's going to be here in, like, twenty minutes with sunglasses and a hat for you since there's already a handful of fucking _vultures_ outside, and then we're going to go to his office and hash this shit out."

Dallon feels his stomach drop, but can't find it in himself to say anything other than, "Alright, then."

***

Dallon uses the time spent driving from the radio station to an office building to charge his phone via his _husband's manager's_ car charger, since he's the only other one in the car who has an Android that needs to be charged. The car ride is awkward and no one says anything. Dallon's exhausted, Brendon just seems pissed off as he glares out of a tinted window, and his manager doesn't seem overly pleased either.

Brendon's manager is... peculiar. Dallon does recognize him, since he knows who a few of his other clients are, and meeting this guy in person, especially under these circumstances, is _weird._ He's barely five and a half feet tall and he looks like the male version of a manic pixie dream girl rather than uptight and professional like a lot of managers look.

His office is also nothing like Dallon thought it'd be. It almost looks like someone's living room. The rest of the building he works in looks about how you'd expect an office building owned by a record label to look, but his office specifically is _definitely_ something else. There's brown shag carpeting on the floor, wood paneling on the walls, an ugly plaid couch against one wall, and a decent looking oak desk near the back of the room. It's _so_ peculiar. Dallon gets invited to take a seat on the couch, next to _Brendon_ of course, while the guy, who hasn't introduced himself yet, closes the door, locks it, and goes and sits at his desk.

It's not as if Dallon doesn't know his name, though.

Because he does.

But he feels weird about calling this guy by his name before he introduces himself.

Brendon's manager does introduce himself, of course. It's the first thing he says. "Alright, so, _I'm_ Pete, and you're apparently married to my _idiot_ of a client, Brendon. Also, quit looking scared. You're not in trouble. If anything, _he's_ in trouble." Pete points at Brendon, giving him a dirty look. _"Eloped?_ Really? You told them you _eloped?!"_

"What else was I supposed to do?!"

"You could've said that you thought it was a cool ring."

"Right--right--I thought a _white gold wedding band_ was a _cool ring,_ and decided to, conveniently, wear it on my ring finger?"

"You wear your birthstone on your right hand. No one would've asked any questions. This didn't have to be so complicated. It really didn't." If anything, Pete looks like a disappointed parent, and Dallon can only watch the two of them bicker as if it were a TV show. Except, that TV show is real life, and he's one of the main characters.

"What do _you_ think we should do, _Pete?"_

"I don't know, _Brendon._ You really screwed the pooch on this one."

"Well, _technically_ I screwed the twenty one year old sitting next to me."

"Shut up. Just shut up. You." He points at Dallon next. "What do you want?"

"He wants an annulment," Brendon answers for him. "He told me himself."

"Alright, well, as _much_ as I'd love to make that happen, I can't, unless Brendon here wants a scandal on his hands."

"Fair enough, I guess," Dallon mumbles. "What do you think we should do...?"

"Me? In the simplest of terms, I think that, perhaps, we should try to spin this. See, Brendon has a very particular public image, right?"

"What, uh, kind of image is that?"

Brendon sighs, and lets his head tilt back until it thuds against the wall. Dallon looks between him and Pete, waiting for someone to answer him.

Pete answers, of course. "Well, up until now, playing him as this sort of _aloof_ heart breaker type has done _wonders_ for album sales. Men and women _want him,_ and people want to _be_ him."

"How do you suggest we spin this?" Brendon asks without moving or even opening his eyes all too much.

"Act like you're married. Maybe you met him, and fell in love so fast and so hard that the two of you decided _fuck it,_ and got married. How long has it been since you've publicly dated anyone, Brendon?"

"Not since Sarah, which was... almost six years ago, I think. It was before _you_ got a hold of me."

"Perfect. And he's a man!"

"I suppose I could say I've spent the past six years going between a lot of... different women, but never finding someone who quite fit, and then I met... _him,"_ Brendon looks up to give Dallon some sort of weird _look,_ "and we could say that in meeting him, I realized that I'm pan _,_ even though I've already _been_ pan since I was a kid, basically."

"And what do you do? College? Work?"

"College. I bar tend on the weekends, though."

"What's your major?"

Dallon notices that Pete's writing everything down at this moment. "Communications."

"Good to know. How do you feel about all of this?"

"Uh... It's... the most exciting thing that's happened to me since I got accepted into the college I go to, I guess...?"

"Cool; when do you graduate?"

"June."

"How convenient." Pete sighs, and seems to take a few moments to think before running the next idea by either of them. "I want the two of you to live together."

"Abso-fucking-lutely _not._ I've lived alone since I was twenty four--"

"--and you decided to _get married_ while you were _fucked up_ last night. Who's fault is that?"

"... Both of ours."

"Exactly. If we're going to spin this, it needs to be convincing. It'd look weird that the two of you are _married_ and not living together. So, _kid,_ how do you feel about California?"

"Um... I'm alright with it. I've been there a few times."

"Cool, because that genius lives in Malibu. Come June, that's where you're gonna be staying. I can set you up with a job and everything."

"What if he rips me off, Pete? I don't _know_ him."

"Are you going to rip him off?"

"No. I've had enough shitty roommates to know better."

"There we go."

 

**Part III**

***

Dallon barely makes it past his twenty second birthday before, somehow, his mother finds out that he _married_ someone. Dallon's been very fucking careful not to be seen out in public with Brendon, which isn't hard, since the older man basically ignores him, other than to ask a few questions here and there. Somehow, though, she just figures it out, and she calls him while he's in the middle of his monthly marathon of whatever shitty TV show him and Spencer can find on Netflix. This month, it's That 70's Show.

His phone starts ringing, and he sighs. Him and Spencer take bets on who it is before Dallon looks at the caller ID, and thankfully, Dallon wins a metaphorical ten bucks, since he was right. It's his mom. _"Allô?"_ _ **(Hello?)**_

"Sometimes I forget your parents are French," Spencer mutters before resigning himself to keeping his mouth shut while Dallon's on the phone.

Dallon just rolls his eyes at his friend, and he's half a second away from socking him in the arm when, _oh god,_ his mother asks him why he didn't tell her he's _married._ _"Why didn't you tell me you got married?"_ After a few minutes of not responding, she asks him if she needs to repeat herself.

_"Ah... non. Je vais bien."_ _**(Ah** _ _**...** _ _**no. I'm good.)** _

_"Expliquez-vous."_ _**(Explain yourself.)** _

"Look, I met a guy, I liked him, and we decided to elope."

_"And you didn't think to tell me?"_

"Not really...? I mean, we... don't really _talk_ that much, Ma. How'd you find out?"

 _"Well, your_ sister _found out, and told me. Did you marry that--that guy for the money?"_

"Not at all. I had no idea who he was when we met. I just thought he was nice." Dallon is well aware that he's full of shit, and even if he wasn't, the _look_ that Spencer's giving him would be enough for him to figure it out. "We really clicked, and... we're young, so we just--we decided, _fuck it,_ and just did it. I'm sure there could've been more foresight behind it, but there wasn't, and there's nothing I can do about it now. I'm sorry."

***

The week before Dallon graduates, he's woken up bright and fucking early (on a Saturday, of course) by someone ringing the doorbell on his apartment nonstop. He yanks the door open, hoping that he looks pissed and as if he got woken up (because he did) only to find that it's Brendon and his fucking manager, both of whom are standing there in sunglasses. Pete's only wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, and Brendon's in the tackiest Hawaiian style button up--the kind you'd see a tourist wearing in Hawaii.

Brendon's chewing gum, and his eyebrows are raised ever so slightly. Either way, he looks as if he doesn't want to be there. Pete just looks exhausted.

"What the fuck are the two of you doing here?"

"I told you he's pissy when he wakes up, "Brendon says in a 'told-you-so' tone.

"Shut the fuck _up,"_ Dallon tells him. "I do not like you. I do not appreciate the two of you showing up unannounced at seven in the fucking morning. Why are the two of you here?"

"You're moving; remember?" Pete looks wholly unimpressed. Dallon figures he's just jaded after dealing with years of his clients getting up to hijinks like, y'know, getting married out of fucking nowhere. "I have a crew ready to come and pack your shit up around noon. I also already have a few jobs lined up for you in Malibu if you want them."

Everything about this is _wrong,_ and Dallon really wishes he wouldn't have gone out with Ryan that one night, but he shit in his own bed, so now he has to sleep in it. "How much of my stuff are you taking?"

"Personal belongings, electronics, any clothes you don't need in the immediate future, any furniture of yours that _he_ likes, and then you need to sort through whatever shit you want to donate."

"And I get no say in this, whatsoever?"

"Well, technically you do, but--" Pete starts.

 _"--but,_ you're basically doing _me_ a huge favor by shutting up, and looking pretty when I need you to, at least for the next year before we can fake a breakup," and Brendon finishes.

"... Fine. Whatever. I'm--I'm too tired to deal with this." Dallon grunts, and just invites them in before going into his bedroom to get dressed.

He's hucked his underwear into his dirty laundry bin, and he's rifling through his dresser, looking for another pair, when he hears, "Huh. I'm glad coked out Brendon made some good sex choices," coming from behind him.

His first reaction is to grab his wallet, which is on his dresser, and to pelt Brendon with it from across his room. "Get the _fuck_ out of here!"

"We're _married,"_ Brendon says this as if it were some sort of fucking explanation as he's plopping down onto Dallon's bed, dropping a sly comment about how he likes memory foam.

"It doesn't mean I want you in my bedroom at seven in the morning getting an eyeful of my dick."

"It's nothing I haven't seen before."

At this point, Dallon has underwear on, and he's going through his closet. "I'm aware."

"Do you top, or bottom?"

"Both, and in case you're wondering, you topped. My ass hurt for, like, three days after that."

"Nice."

 _"What a pig,"_ Dallon thinks as he's pulling a Rush shirt off of a hanger and slipping it on.

"Do you like coffee?" Brendon asks, seemingly out of nowhere.

"I guess. I usually get a caramel macchiato."

"Cool, because that's what I told Pete to get you. He left to go get coffee, by the way."

"Coffee totally compensates for all of this."

"You're just as much at fault for this as I am."

"You're the one who ran your mouth on live radio."

"... Shut up."

Dallon sighs, _loudly,_ before walking over to his bedside table, opening the drawer on it, and rifling through it until he finds what he's looking for.

"Whoa, dude--isn't it a little early for that?" Brendon's teasing as he rolls over on his stomach, eyeing the tiny little baggy of coke that Dallon's currently holding in his hand.

"It's seven on a Saturday, and I assume I have a long day ahead of me."

"Why do you do coke, anyways? You're in college."

"I did my master's in four years." Dallon mutters before taking a bump. "Classes for upwards of ten hours a day, plus studying day in and day out, and internships, not to mention that I work as much as I possibly can on the weekends. And, I mean, sometimes it's fun. You want some?"

"No thanks. I have my own shit."

"Fair enough."

**Part IV**

***

Dallon hasn't been to California in years. The last time he was here, he was fourteen and on a field trip for middle school. He's freshly graduated, and he starts work in a few weeks. (Pete claimed that a few weeks was long enough for him to get acclimated to everything.)

He also grew up living a fairly modest life. His parents both have decently paying jobs, and he wasn't ever _poor,_ but his family still lived paycheck to paycheck, and seeing a fucking _mansion_ in _Malibu_ is still a bit of a shock to him. "Are you--are you sure this is your house?"

"I spent a fucking _mint_ on this house, so it sure as shit better be mine." Brendon drops his keys into a basket on a table near his front door, and takes his shoes off, just sort of haphazardly kicking them under the table. "Take your shoes off, and put your keys where I put mine," He says before exiting the foyer, and heading towards a different part of the house.

Dallon tries to be quick about doing what he said before he's following behind him like a lost puppy. "I'm only here, like, four months out of the year, _at most._ My only requests are that you don't steal anything, if you break something get it fixed, and don't trash the place. I don't think that you would, given how your apartment was kept, but still. You are also _not_ to enter my bedroom unless I give you explicit permission. My bedroom is that room, right over there." Brendon points at a closed door, and Dallon just nods along. "Your room is this way."

Dallon was expecting a guest room, of course, but this room is still way nicer than he thought it was going to be.

"I considered letting you have one of the smaller rooms, but you're... probably going to be here fairly long term, so I figured it wouldn't kill me to let you have the other master bedroom. Also, yes, that is _your_ bed, so... that's something, I guess."

"I can tell that it's mine from the bed frame," Dallon mumbles. "Um... thanks, I guess."

"Yeah, anyways. Uh. Your clothes are all hung up and put away. I did that myself, because there's a part of me that feels bad about all of this. Any decorating you want to do--go for it, just don't, uh, make any permanent modifications to the walls or flooring or anything. Like, if you want a rug, go for it, and if you want to tack up some posters or whatever, feel free. Just--don't knock down any walls or anything ridiculous."

"I think the most I want to do is hang my degree up above the desk over there, but, uh, other than that... I think I'm good." Dallon shrugs, and follows Brendon, who leads the way towards the kitchen.

"This is obviously the kitchen. Since I'm hardly here, feel free to eat whatever's here, and feel free to buy your own groceries. Also--my liquor is kept over there, on the bar. I don't care if you drink any of it, but if you finish something, replace it, and if you get _super_ drunk, try your best not to throw up on any of my furniture, or on any of the carpeting."

"Will do. No offense, but you're, uh, kind of nitpicky."

"Yeah, because this is my home, and I'm letting you live here, free of charge, because I fucked up. Anyways, uh, that's basically the important stuff, as far as, like, rooms go. Feel free to poke around if you want...? I haven't really lived with anyone in a long fucking time."

"Alright. Um. Now what do I do?"

"... Whatever you want, I guess." Brendon shrugs, and opens his fridge, and pulls out a carton of orange juice. He checks the expiration date, then opens it and sniffs it, before physically gagging and closing it fast enough to give a man whiplash. "Or... you could help me come up with a grocery list, since basically everything in my fridge is expired."

***

Dallon's an inconsistent person, and he hardly has a routine, even when he wasn't living in Malibu, but he still likes to make himself dinner every night, and after he lists a bunch of essentials that he thinks Brendon should have, and once Brendon's assistant has purchased everything for them, he's getting to work in the kitchen, since he's feeling inspired enough to make homemade pasta.

He also kind of just has a craving for 'lasagna bake,' as his mother calls it. (It's basically just a casserole made out of egg noodles, feta and mozzarella, and spaghetti sauce, sometimes ground beef if she was feeling it.)

Brendon just seems more or less annoyed as he pops his head into the kitchen to see what the fuck Dallon's up to, but once the smell of the dish starts permeating throughout the lower level of the house, he starts to seem less annoyed, and more curious, even asking, "What are you making?" when the timer on the oven is at ten minutes.

Dallon looks up from his phone, where he's reading something, from his place on the counter, since he's weird and likes sitting on counters. "It's a recipe my mom always made when I was living at home, since it's, ah, fairly cheap and also fairly delicious. She calls it 'lasagna bake,' even though it's just a glorified spaghetti casserole. You're not--you're not vegan or anything, are you?"

"Dude, fuck no. What kind of noodles did you use?"

"Homemade egg noodles."

"Wait--you made noodles?"

"... Yes? It wasn't that hard. You just mix flower, water, salt, and eggs until it comes out to a nice consistency, then you roll it out, make sure its floured, then you cut it into strips and boil it for a little bit before putting them into the casserole." He shrugs, seeming almost embarrassed.

"I can't cook for shit. Anything more complicated than scrambled eggs is a mystery to me."

***

Their dinner goes... smoothly. Brendon seems a little more friendly and a lot less prickly as he's eating. He even goes so far as to pay Dallon a handful of slightly vulgar compliments. Dallon considers that a success.

Things get interesting, though, later that evening while they're awkwardly sitting on the couch watching reruns of Jeopardy together. Dallon gets up, mumbling something about watching something on his laptop in his room, and Brendon grabs at his wrist before he can get too far away.

"Do you wanna... fuck around a little bit?"

Dallon's not at all a shy person, and although he does raise his eyebrows at Brendon, he can still feel the tips of his ears burning at the suggestion. "Pardon?"

"I mean, I can't really go out and fuck someone else, because basically every paparazzi in Malibu knows I'm, ah, _married,_ and would kill to catch me 'cheating' on you, and... really, once they figure out who you are, it's not like you'll be able to do the same thing either, so... might as well try to make the best out of a bad situation, right?"

"Um. You have a point, and to answer your question, it depends on what 'fuck around' means."

"First of all, nothing you don't want to do. I'm not--I'm not like that."

Dallon is a solid six inches taller than Brendon, yet he only feels slightly weird as he's letting the older man pull him into his lap.

"Second of all... It means maybe make out for a little bit, and see where it goes."

Even sober, Dallon can see why his strung out self had enough of a thing for Brendon to decide to fucking marry him, because, Jesus, he's so _enticing._

"I know we don't really like each other, but... There's no harm in having a little fun, yeah?" Brendon smirks, and reaches up, using his right index finger and thumb to gently grab onto Dallon's chin, and pull him into a kiss.

Dallon definitely doesn't dislike kissing this man. Brendon's obnoxious and kind of sharp around the edges, but he kisses Dallon so soft and sweet and he just _melts_. Brendon's hands feel hot on his hips and his thighs and Dallon feels a little embarrassed at how fast he's liable to just get so _into_ it, but he's not going to be the one to complain about an objectively attractive man giving him attention like this.

**Part V**

***

Dallon hates to admit it, but he's a fairly domestic person. Another one of his habits is making breakfast for himself. (He just enjoys having meals.) He's thoughtful and considerate enough to make enough for two, and to also make something that isn't absolutely disgusting leftover, on the off chance Brendon, who is a fairly light sleeper, as Dallon has learned over the past few weeks, doesn't wake up from him knocking around the kitchen trying to make breakfast. At the very least, he figures a leftover meal with a post-it note that says, _"Good morning!"_ is a good way start to the day.

That doesn't change the fact that Dallon finds himself being interrupted in the middle of scrambling eggs by, _"What the fuck are you doing?"_ being asked in a very, _very_ poisonous tone.

"Breakfast, just like I've done every morning for the past two weeks," he answers smoothly.

"Every fucking morning, _you wake me up."_

"And? It's seven. It's not entirely unreasonable for you to be up this early. If it's that bad, wear earplugs to sleep. I don't want to spend an extra fifty bucks a week buying myself breakfast when I can just as easily wake up a little earlier every morning and make it for myself. Also, I don't see why you're complaining. I always make enough for two and you never bitch about my cooking being bad."

"It's the fact that I was up until _five_ last night."

"Go to bed earlier."

"This is _my_ house."

"And I'm living with you because you don't have the balls to publicly admit you were fucked up on coke and married some grad school junkie for _whatever_ reason. You're also the one who lied about us fucking _eloping,_ like, _come on._ The _least_ you can do is eat some breakfast before it gets cold."

***

Dallon's job isn't a hard job. He clocks in, fucks around at a computer for eight hours, clocks out, and goes home, even taking home a decent paycheck--better than when he was simply bartending on the weekends. He's not no multi-millionaire like his _husband_ is, but he's building up a pretty decent savings, and of course, it helps that he doesn't need to pay for almost any of his living expenses.

Despite living hundreds of miles from any of his friends, not to mention his parents, he's pretty okay with where his life is at. Well, at least up until he's being woken up at seven on a Saturday in July, one of his days off, from his arm being pinched a little harder than necessary. He yanks his arm away from the pincher, and rolls onto his stomach, grumbling out some half-awake nonsense.

"You wake me up every morning when you go to work, so you can handle me waking you up for something moderately important." Brendon has a point and Dallon wishes he didn't.

"God--what the _fuck_ do you _want?"_ He's whining a little bit and trying very hard to get comfortable again, but Brendon's making that impossible.

Brendon has no concept of personal space, at least not with Dallon and especially not when he wants something, and Brendon absolutely takes no time at all to walk, yes _walk_ up the other side of Dallon's bed, and to sit Indian-style in front of him. He pats Dallon's face and even tugs at his hair a bit, up until Dallon's grabbing his wrist and giving him the dirtiest look imaginable. "I asked you what you want. Can you tell me so I can go back to bed?"

"You're not going back to bed. Part of this agreement was that you shut up and look pretty when I need you to, and I need you to shut up and look pretty for me today."

"Why?"

"There's an event I got invited to, and my friend--the one hosting it--wants me to bring you."

"I don't want to go to some bullshit corporate Hollywood party with you." Dallon is very pissy when he's woken up, and Brendon is honestly starting to regret waking him up.

"First of all, it's not a corporate party. It's just going to me, you, and maybe twenty other people in a restaurant. My friend's band is releasing an album soon, and we're all going out to celebrate it. You don't even have to dress up that much. Second of all, I'll _pay_ you to go with me, just so I don't look like an ass in front of my friends."

"I don't want your fucking money." Dallon grunts, and sits up, finally letting go of Brendon's wrist. "When is it?"

"This evening. We're supposed to be there around six."

"What's the dress code?"

"I'm honestly just gonna wear a nice shirt, a sports coat, and slacks, maybe a tie. And sensible shoes. Always gotta wear sensible shoes. If you need me to, I can take you shopping for clothes."

"Are you really that scared of looking like an ass in front of your friends?" Dallon squints at him, partially because... Jesus, and also because it's bright in here and he's a little hungover. (He likes caramel whiskey, and he happened to see Brendon's bottle while he was rooting through the bar last night.)

"If I didn't have a career or an image to worry about, I wouldn't give a shit. I also don't know who all there is going to be the type to gossip, so I'd just feel better if you went with me and acted like you didn't hate me."

"And what does 'acting like I don't hate you' imply?"

"I don't know, dude. Hold my hand or something. Kiss me. PDA. Go with the story Pete told us to stick to if anyone asks--we met, fell hard and fast, then eloped. Also--beware. There's probably going to be some pictures taken, so don't be surprised if people start figuring out who you are."

***

Dallon doesn't wind up letting Brendon buy him clothes, because fuck that--he's an adult, he can buy his own clothes--but he does borrow a pair of dress shoes from him, since Brendon just happened to have a pair that were a size too big. They sort of match, and Dallon half wants to change, but Brendon stops him, saying that it'd probably come off as cute if they matched at least a little bit.

Whatever party this is--it's something. Dallon's only ever been to a handful of house parties and birthday parties, never anything semi-formal and in some upscale restaurant in Southern California. Brendon was also wrong about the amount of people that were supposed to be here. There's a fuck of a lot more than twenty, and Dallon winds up sitting in a booth in the corner of the room, sipping at a cocktail that he's pretty sure consists of champagne and cherry juice. It's good and it's fruity enough for him to enjoy while he looks at Twitter on his phone while Brendon's up and schmoozing with everyone else in the room.

He's pretty enthralled, reading a thread that's basically a watered down think piece on Russian politics when there's someone else sliding into his booth. Dallon doesn't look up, figuring it's just Brendon, so he mutters, "Go away. I don't like you," before scrolling down to the next few tweets.

"Well, fuck. That's no way to treat a stranger," Says a voice belonging to someone who is very obviously not Brendon.

Dallon looks up, cheeks already burning. _"Um._ Fuck. Sorry. Holy shit. I sort of thought you were, uh, someone else." He feels absolutely _mortified._

"Brendon?"

"Yeah, uh... Yeah. Him."

"I see there's trouble in paradise already." This guy smirks a little bit. "You really feel that strongly about him?"

"Ugh, no. He was being an asshole this morning, and I've been copping an attitude with him," Dallon lies. Sure, Brendon was being an asshole about waking him but, but for the most part, he's been sort of pleasant, and Dallon sort of always cops an attitude with him anyways.

"Fair enough, I guess. You're Dallon, right?"

"How do you know my name?" Dallon makes a bit of a face at the guy, and turns his phone screen off.

"Brendon told me. We're, ah, friends. I'm Josh, by the way." The guy, Josh, holds his hand across the table, and Dallon shakes it, trying to be friendly, since he feels bad about accidentally being a jerk.

"It's nice to meet you, man. Again--I'm so sorry for what I said a few minutes ago. I really thought you were, uh, well... not you."

"Fair enough. Brendon's an ass, so I don't blame you, man." Josh holds his hands up a bit. "How's it going with him, anyways?"

Dallon squints at this guy, looking judgmental and critical. "It's going fine. Why do you ask?"

"It's not every day your best friend goes on a coke binge and gets married," Josh replies, nonchalantly, and with a shrug. "I do know about that, by the way."

"Um." Shock. Fear. Those are two of the basic emotions that are going through Dallon's head right now.

"I won't tell anyone, dude. I'm just yankin' ya." Josh nudges Dallon's leg under the table. "So, do you, y'know... _like_ him?" He's now leaning forward a little bit, chin resting on the backs of his hands.

Dallon looks around, and makes sure there's no one in earshot before he speaks. "He's not an awful person, but he's... rude. I'm not exactly that nice either, though, if we're being fair. That's all I have to say on the matter."

Josh looks amused and like he's about to say something else, but he gets interrupted by Brendon, who's sliding into the booth next to Dallon, being sure to peck him on the cheek to keep up appearances before giving Josh a dirty look and telling him, "Leave him alone, you asshole. I know you're being weird, and I want you to stop. _Now."_

"I was just asking him questions because you don't answer my texts." Josh pouts a little bit and sighs.

"You're like a fucking vulture, Jesus."

***

Dallon feels dread pool up in his stomach as one of Brendon's celebrity friends is rounding up a handful of people for a group picture, one that includes both him and Brendon. (He tries getting out of it, but Brendon's friend--whose name Dallon can't remember at the moment--tells him to get into the picture.) Dallon's been very careful to avoid being seen out in public with Brendon, and to not have any pictures of himself wind up anywhere even associated with Brendon, but he supposes that now his luck has run out.

He bends down just a little bit, next to Brendon, hopefully near the edge of the picture, and smiles a closed mouth smile, trying to look as happy and as in love with his fake partner as he possibly can. The friend takes a few pictures, and in one of them, Brendon decides to kiss Dallon's cheek, if only to embarrass him a little bit.

**Part VI**

***

"This is like a cab, but... nicer," Dallon mutters as he examines the small backseat of the car they're in. They didn't drive to the dinner party themselves, meaning Brendon had called a ride service to get them home.

"That's the point," He states. "I have to spend some extra money, but like... it's better than a cab." He shrugs, and Dallon watches him out of the corner of his eye as he's loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button on his shirt. "I hate dressing up for things. I mean, Josh got away with a dress shirt and nice jeans, but I'm stupid and _extra_ and _always_ have to go the extra mile." Brendon's more or less grumbling under his breath, sounding nice and grumpy.

"I think it's nice, going the extra mile. It shows you care."

"I guess so," he mumbles back. "Did you have a good time tonight?"

"I mean... yeah. It wasn't bad. I'm kind of nervous about the pictures the one guy took of us, and _you_ kissing my cheek in one of them, but otherwise I had a nice time. Had to will myself not to consume every glass of champagne that was in the place, though." Dallon huffs a little bit. "I had a glass, and I was good."

"Kudos for having self control. It's not like I drank a whole lot either, though. I had about a shot's worth of scotch to take the edge off when I got there."

"Fair enough, I guess. Your, ah... friend. He was kind of... Pushy."

"Josh? Yeah. He's... weird like that. He's totally nice, like, more than you can imagine, but sometimes he can be kind of a dumbass." Brendon shrugs, and adjusts his position, slouching a little bit. "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure. What is it?" Dallon looks at him with a quirked eyebrow.

"I fucking _hate_ social events. They're always so exhausting. I can deal, I can definitely deal, because it's my _job_ to deal, but, Jesus. They're stressful. If it wasn't, like, almost midnight, I'd probably be marching my ass to a dispensary right now. I need to unwind."

"I... hate them too. I mean, I'm not--I'm not famous like you are, or anything, and the biggest social event I've been to recently besides the one we were just at was my graduation in June, but I also hate them."

Brendon nods, and Dallon finds himself freezing, unsure on how to react when the older man is unbuckling his seatbelt, and lying mostly horizontally, on his back, across the back seat, head in Dallon's lap.

"What... are you doing?"

"Laying down. I'm tired, and your thigh is more comfortable than the headrest. Also, we're _married._ Aren't we supposed to be affectionate, or whatever?"

"We hardly know each other, so I wouldn't classify our relationship as anything more than acquaintances. Also, you're going to make my leg fall asleep."

"Deal with it. I'm old. Respect me."

"That's... basically a surefire way to make sure I _don't_ respect you. I don't care if you're almost a decade older than me. You have to, like, earn my respect."

"God, you sound like some fifteen year old. _'Respect isn't given. It's earned.'"_ Brendon looks up at Dallon, squinting at him with pretty brown eyes, and for just a moment, Dallon can sort of forget about their situation, because Brendon is very pretty and handsome and the streetlights passing the car and shining into his face somehow just emphasize that beauty. "I was joking anyways."

Dallon rolls his eyes, snapping out of his little trance. "You're in the way of my arm."

"Dude, for fucks sake. You're allowed to touch me." _Brendon_ rolls his eyes now, and grabs Dallon's left forearm, placing it across his chest. Dallon takes to holding onto the handle above the right window in the backseat. Brendon shifts, and closes his eyes and that's... where he remains for the next thirty seven minutes, napping on Dallon's thigh.

***

Dallon's taking his borrowed shoes off, and then rubbing his feet a little bit on the floor in Brendon's living room when the mentioned man walks through the living room, in his underwear (a pair of navy blue briefs), with his clothes bundled up in his arms. He does pause for a moment to say, "If you want anything washed tonight, put your clothes on the floor in the laundry room."

"Don't you ever wear anything other than _underwear?"_ Is what Dallon responds with instead of answering Brendon.

"It's my house. If I want to walk around _naked,_ then I will. You're allowed to walk around in your underwear too. Anyways, that's not the point. No one cares if I'm in my undies in my own home. If you want anything washed, like I said, put your shit in the laundry room, otherwise you're on your own."


	14. Chapter 14

**premise:** hmm omegaverse...... imma keep it real w u i wrote this at a time where i was like... Unaware of how being deaf works and i know theres sum ableist shit in this that i shouldnt publish but i was like 16 or 17 when i wrote it and didnt know any better and this fucker is 25k words im not fixing or working on it esp because i dont care about brallon anymore

*

Dallon meets his soulmate on a sidewalk in Seattle. It's raining, and he _was_ on his way to a certain shop downtown to buy himself a new jacket since the one he'd been wearing for the past three years had finally torn, when he sees this _guy_ drop something and not notice. He picks the item up, saying, "Hey, dude, hold up--you dropped this."

The guy whips around, eyes wide, and Dallon thinks to himself, _"This is it--he's probably the one,"_ and his suspicions are confirmed when the guy is whispering, "Sign language, please," in one of the quietest and softest tones he's ever heard.

 _"Um, alright, yeah. I'm fluent. I, uh, started learning it at a young age since this has been on my wrist. Uh. That's--that's irrelevant. Sorry."_ They're both kind of in the way of everyone else walking on the sidewalk, but it doesn't seem to matter until someone bumps into the smaller male standing in front of him, which causes him to fall on his ass, eyes wide, and, honestly, afraid.

Dallon holds a hand out to him, and hauls him up and off the ground after he takes hold of the hand with a surprisingly firm grip. His gloves are leather, clinging to his hand as if it were a second skin. _"Are you alright? You look like someone just murdered your family."_

 _"Too much to explain in one sitting."_ His hands are shaking as he signs that and his face is still looking shocked and mortified.

_"Can I touch you?"_

_"I'd prefer if you didn't."_

_"Okay. Thank you for being honest. Um. Do you want to go find a restaurant to sit in or something...? Would that be alright with you?"_

He nods a little bit, and Dallon leads the way. "There's a place near here that I go to a lot whenever I'm in this part of town. It's nothing too fancy, just a shitty burger joint."

"Vegan." Dallon barely hears this.

"You're vegan?"

He catches the nod.

"They have vegan options. Tofu burgers and all that jazz. There's other stuff, like salad and fruity things. Smoothies too. Uh. What's your name?"

The guy spells out, _"B-R-E-N-D-O-N U-R-I-E,"_ slow enough for Dallon to catch it.

"Brendon Urie?"

_Nod._

"Dallon Weekes, at your service, _sir."_

Brendon smiles a little bit, and tentatively holds Dallon's hand, gripping it just a little too tightly. It's not as if Dallon is about to complain, because he figures that Brendon has good reasoning for holding his hand too tight. Also, like, they're soulmates apparently, and given that Dallon's an alpha and that he's naturally a caring and nurturing person, he's _definitely_ not going to say anything.

He can't tell whether or not Brendon's an omega or a beta. He smells kind of like a beta, but the way he's acting makes Dallon question that. Suppressants have a way of tricking people, but Dallon's always had a certain sensitivity to pheromones.

They walk into the small restaurant, and Dallon does Brendon a favor by translating his sign language to the waiter once the guy finally comes around to take their order. Dallon, himself, orders a grilled cheese and a small cup of coffee, whereas Brendon orders a strawberry banana smoothie and a fruit salad.

While they wait for their orders to be filled, Brendon explains something small. _"I have selective mutism. It's why I use sign language. Can't really talk, usually. This is a special occasion though, Like, when I used my voice those few times."_

_"Makes sense. I'm not mute obviously. I'm kind of a chatterbox when it comes down to it. There's been many occasions where my parents and my friends have told me to shut up."_

_"I like hearing people talk. I don't think I'd ever tell you to shut up."_

_"Can I ask if you're a beta or an omega...? I can't really tell. Your pheromones are weird."_

Brendon makes an 'o' shape with his hand, and Dallon nods, definitely understanding what he means by the 'o' shape. _"You're an alpha, I'm assuming. You kind of reek with that scent."_

_"You smell like fear and apprehension."_

_"Really?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Didn't think I was being that obvious. Ugh."_

_"You really aren't, but I'm, like, hypersensitive when it comes to pheromones."_

_"Ah. How old are you?"_

_"Twenty three. How about you?"_

_"Eighteen."_

_"Barely legal. My parents are going to be proud."_ Dallon rolls his eyes and smiles.

_"Wait, really? They'd be proud about that?"_

_"I was being sarcastic."_

_"Oh! Um, I have trouble getting a grasp on sarcasm. Haven't had a lot of experience with it, so it goes over my head for the most part."_

_"That's chill. Would you prefer if I wasn't sarcastic...?"_

_"You can be sarcastic, but, uh, don't deadpan. Deadpan humor is the kind of sarcasm I don't get specifically."_ Brendon breaks eye contact and shrugs. _"Probably worth noting, but I'm a sophomore in high school. Had some problems in middle school and got held back a few times."_

_"That's also chill. I get the 'having problems' part, trust me. I probably didn't have it as bad as you did, but I get it."_

_"You're really nice. Why's that?"_

_"We're probably going to be together until one of us dies, I'm assuming, and considering that I'm an alpha, I'm kind of prone to being a nurturing kind of person."_

_"I didn't know alphas could be like that. The ones I've met have been dicks."_

_"I was raised to be like this. I mean, I'm still possessive and all that, but I'm not some freaky manipulative and controlling fuck."_

_"Uh. Do we have to be in a relationship right off the bat...?"_

_"Oh! No! Definitely not. I'm not expecting that from you. I think getting to know each other first would be a smart choice rather than just suddenly being boyfriends or whatever. I mean, we met like ten minutes ago."_

Brendon laughs silently, and nods.

***

Dallon and Brendon exchange phone numbers, and, unfortunately, don't get a chance to physically see each other for a month or two. Brendon doesn't say anything to his mom about meeting _the one,_ but he tells the, like, two people at his school that actually talk to him, or that at least know sign language, a few days after it happens.

He waits until the teacher in the special education classroom walks out to say anything. (He hates that class with every fiber of his being, but, for some reason, he's required to be in it. Well, alright--he knows exactly why he's in the class, but he just hates that instead of finding a way for him to cope, his guidance counselor just plopped him into the special education class without a second thought.)

Brendon uses the tip of his pencil to poke Tyler in the arm. Tyler's deaf, and Brendon thinks it's kind of stupid that he has to be in the special education class when he can function just fine on his own, but Tyler always tells him to chill, and to let him live, since he doesn't have a choice either way.

_"What's up, B?"_

_"Would you believe me if I said I met_ the one?"

Tyler's eyes widen and he flaps his hands around a bit, obviously excited, and lets out a really small noise, which is rare, since he usually can't talk or really make any noise with his vocal cords in general. _"Seriously? Are you serious? I need every detail about what they're like immediately."_

Brendon smiles a little stupidly, and pulls up one of Dallon's Snapchats. It's a goofy one, and it's one that features one of Dallon's friends, but Brendon likes it because he looks especially cute. _"He's the one with blue eyes. The guy with the nose is Josh, I think. D-A-L-L-O-N, the, uh, guy, says he's nice, though. Like, one of the actually decent alphas."_

_"Is D-A-L-L-O-N an alpha?"_

_"Yes. He's very nice, and he's funny."_

_"Funny is always good. He should introduce me to his friend. He's cute."_

Brendon rolls his eyes. _"I guess he is. He's, like... kind of old, though. I don't think he's_ that _old but he's friends with D-A-L-L-O-N, so I can't assume he's in high school."_

_"How old is D-A-L-L-O-N?"_

_"Twenty three, but I'm also eighteen. You're sixteen. His friend looks, like, twenty maybe, to me at least, but I dunno. I'll look into it."_

_"I'm so excited for you, dude."_

Brendon only gets to sign, _"Thank you,"_ back at Tyler before the teacher is walking back into the room, commanding everyone's attention.

***

When Brendon tells his mom that he met his soulmate, it's June, even though he met Dallon late in April. She starts going off on him in Hawaiian, asking why he didn't tell her as soon as he met him, and Brendon just shrugs, quietly saying, "I knew you'd react either like this, or you'd be way too excited." He shrugs again and goes back to scrubbing a plate. (His mother likes to take advantage of his OCD, and makes him do dishes. Brendon kind of wishes she didn't make him do that, but, he needs to clean, _has to,_ so he kind of doesn't mind. He has to wear latex gloves to do it, though. He once had a panic attack that lasted for three hours after touching soggy food at some point.)

"I want to meet him." She's crossing her arms, and raising her eyebrows at her son.

"Alright. When?"

"Whenever. Preferably soon."

"I'll ask him if he wants to come over for dinner sometime this week, then."

"Alright."

"Alright," Brendon says back to her pointed tone.

***

Dallon shows up dressed up nicely, and Brendon nods meaningfully at him when he opens the apartment door. _"You look nice."_

 _"Thank you, Brendon."_ Dallon smiles at him politely, and steps inside.

"Shoes. Off." Brendon points to where there's a line of shoes stretching from one end of the wall towards the other. He thinks it's a little weird, but he takes his shoes off and sets them at the end of the line. While he's doing that, Brendon had, apparently, left the room, and came back with a bottle of hand sanitizer. "Hands." Aaand Dallon holds his hands out. Brendon squirts a quick dollop of the hand sanitizer into the palm of his left hand before he's leaving the room again.

_"Why the hand sanitizer?"_

_"I don't want anything to be dirty."_

_"My hands were clean, though...?"_

_"No they weren't. You probably touched the doorknob to your apartment, your keys when you locked it, the remote on your keys, the handle to your car door, your keys again, your steering wheel, your car door handle again, the remote again, the stair rail on the staircase leading up to this apartment, then the door since you knocked."_

Dallon makes a weird face. _"That's... really specific and detailed."_

_"I know and I don't care. I feel better if you use the hand sanitizer and if you try to avoid touching your phone until I clean it."_

_"You want to clean my phone?"_ Dallon raises his eyebrows.

_"I have Lysol wipes. I use them on my phone religiously, and my phone is fine, so I wouldn't worry. Please let me."_

_"Okay. Um. It's in my jacket pocket...?"_ Dallon points towards the right pocket, and Brendon reaches into it to grab his phone. Dallon notices his attire. Brendon has a hat on, a turtleneck, the leather gloves he'd been wearing when he met him, then he notices that the turtleneck is tucked into his jeans, and that he's wearing socks which go above the ankle as well. And, of course, his _entire_ outfit is _black._

"Brendon," Dallon says, out loud, as he follows Brendon from the line of shoes to his living room, which is where the Lysol wipes are, apparently.

He turns around, and mouths, _"What?"_ at him.

"Why are you wearing all that stuff? It's June, and it's hot."

Brendon sets Dallon's phone down on the glass coffee table so he can sign. _"Germs. I don't want to risk them touching me. If I dress like this then I feel alright. If I wear anything else I would probably be losing my shit constantly."_

_"Huh. Alright."_

Brendon turns back around towards the coffee table, and curses, saying, _"Shit._ Fuck. Now I have to clean the table," before he's physically cringing. He snatches Dallon's phone up, and takes the case off of it. He's very precise about wiping it off, making sure to fold the wipe into a point to avoid rubbing over any ports. He hands Dallon's phone to him after, and says, "Hold it, and don't put it down," before he gets started on scrubbing Dallon's phone case with a different wipe. Afterward, when the case is back on Dallon's phone, Brendon instructs him to sit on the couch while he cleans the coffee table.

Dallon's half expecting him to just clean the general area that his phone had been, but he wipes the entire thing down, then scrubs specifically at the spot his phone was on. "Can I put my phone in my pocket?" He asks, quietly and sort of timidly. Brendon nods.

When he's done with the table, he throws all three wipes that he'd been using into a waste bin in the living room, before sitting with his legs pulled to his chest on the opposite end of the couch from Dallon. _"My mom won't be home until five or six."_

"Why am I here right now, then? It's three. I left work early for this."

_"I dunno. I wanted company, and my best friend is in Ohio visiting family. Figured you wouldn't mind...?"_

_"I mean, I don't! God, sorry. Work was fucking terrible today. I'm not in the best mood."_

_"It's okay."_

_"Also, uh, I'm still on call, so there's a chance I'm going to have to leave at some point. Just--by the way."_

_"On call? What do you do?"_

_"I'm currently a CNA working on being an RN. The place I work at is short staffed and all of the nurses and CNAs are on call, meaning, like, if they call us or page us then we_ have _to go in and help. I get overtime, though, so I don't particularly mind."_

_"What kind of place do you work at?"_

_"Assisted living. There's a lot of old people and disabled people there. The pay isn't the best but I couldn't get any hospitals to hire me right off the bat."_

_"Sounds... interesting. What all do you do...?"_

_"I help the nurses take care of the people who live there. Mostly it just includes giving them their medications and in general just helping them function like usual people. The nurses are kind of bitchy and make the CNAs do their jobs. I mean, I get it, we're assistants, but do your own fucking jobs, y'know?"_ Dallon leaves out some of the grosser parts of his job, mostly since he assumes Brendon wouldn't like to hear about them. It's not a pretty job.

_"Ah. What does CNA stand for?"_

_"Certified nurses' assistant. I got, like, the certification while I was in college, after I took the required classes. Once I'm an actual nurse, and, hopefully eventually a doctor, I'm so paying off my student loans."_

_"I'm surprised I managed to land someone who is ambitious and kind of successful as a soulmate."_

Dallon snorts and shakes his head, chuckling a little bit. _"If you count five dollars above minimum wage successful."_

_"That's twenty bucks, dude. Jesus."_

_"It's something, but the cost of living here is ridiculous."_

_"True, true. Um, by the way--I'm sorry about being... weird about all this clean stuff. I'm having a bad day. Usually I won't force you to let me clean your phone, but I've been anxious all week since I told my mom I'd invite you over."_

"Don't worry about it. If it helps you feel safe, or whatever, then feel free to clean my phone all you want."

_"Um. Okay, this also sounds weird, but would you be willing to wear latex gloves...? I just--I don't--I don't like bare hands touching stuff in here. Don't take it personally either. I make my mom and everyone else who comes over wear them."_

"I'm cool with that. At least I'm not allergic to latex, right?"

Brendon nods before he's getting up from the couch and walking down the hallway in the opposite direction of the door, and disappearing into a room. He comes back holding two latex gloves with a tissue, and explains that his leather gloves are probably dirty.

Dallon puts the gloves on, asking, "Better?"

_"Much. Thank you for trying."_

_"It's not a problem. I have to wear latex gloves at work anyways. Kind of used to them by now."_

Brendon scoots a little closer to Dallon, and with his voice _almost_ a whisper, asks, "Have you brushed your teeth today?"

"Brushed before I came over."

"Can I kiss you then?"

Dallon is... shocked. Not that shocked, but his eyes widen a tiny bit, his cheeks flush, and he sputters a little bit before managing to say, "Go for it."

Brendon has to sit up straight, since he's quite a bit shorter than Dallon, before he's leaning close enough to touch the taller man's lips with his own. The kiss lasts for a few seconds, and Brendon pulls away with a grin on his face. "That was nice. Probably won't do it again for a while, but it was nice."

Dallon nods in agreement.

***

Brendon's mom likes Dallon, and Dallon, himself, is relieved. He's standing in Brendon's kitchen, sipping at a glass of water while he goes between watching Mrs. Urie cook, and watching Brendon wipe down forks with Lysol wipes at the kitchen table.

Dallon finds himself frowning when Brendon's mother leans over to whisper, "Sorry about him. He's kind of a freak when it comes to certain things."

"He's not a freak. He has a problem and needs help, but he's _not_ a freak." Dallon's quick to jump to Brendon's defense, and to put his foot down. Though, given he's an alpha who is currently in a house with two omegas, it's not that surprising to him. He sees Brendon mouth, _"Thank you,"_ at him when his mother isn't looking, and Dallon just nods slightly.

***

The dinner goes nicely, and late in July on one of Brendon's _really_ good days, he texts Dallon, and asks him if he can go to his apartment, since he's never been, and since on that specific day he (probably) wouldn't spend eight hours cleaning the entire place.

It's one of Dallon's days off, so he agrees to it, and picks Brendon up a little early. He figures the plan is to just hang out that day, which is fine by him. They're still getting to know each other, and Dallon's still trying to get used to Brendon's... _stuff._

When Brendon is in his car, he keeps his hands between his thighs, and doesn't touch anything more than necessary. He does notice that Dallon has on a pair of leather gloves, and he totally calls him out. Quietly, of course. "What's up with the gloves, copycat?"

"Oh--uh--I bought a pair after I was at your apartment. Figured it'd make things easier in the future...? Sorry if it seems lame."

"That's... actually really nice and considerate."

"Also, I already had a pretty big supply of latex gloves, given my profession, so if you, like, need a pair while you're at my apartment, I got you covered. I also bought a pretty big bottle of hand sanitizer a while back, just in case a situation like this happened."

"Is it clean...? Your apartment, I mean."

"Uh, yeah. I mean, it's not as clean as your apartment by any means, but it's not a mess. Like, I clean up after myself and I usually go through my apartment and clean it once every few weeks, but y'know." Dallon shrugs a little bit before he's turning a corner.

"I might tidy it up a bit, but, um... I just--I do that stuff to--I dunno..." Brendon's mumbling, and from the way he trailed off, Dallon figures his voice, like... quit working. He's not quite sure on how to phrase it, or how selective mutism works, but he makes a vow to work on it. Point is, though, Brendon's clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to find the words to explain what he means.

"You use cleaning to cope, right? That's how you cope. You clean. If you need to clean to feel alright then go for it. I'll only cut you off if you spend more than a few hours trying to clean my apartment."

Brendon nods. "Half an hour, at least, maybe an hour at most. Depends on how big your apartment is and how messy it is in my eyes."

"It's a three bedroom, two bath apartment. It's small, though. Like the rooms are barely big enough to fit a full sized bed and maybe a desk in. I use one of them for... storage, then one is my room. The kitchen is tiny and the living room is kinda big but... it's kind of barren. Shit, sorry. I talk too much."

Brendon shakes his head. "You don't. You're alright."

***

Dallon watches Brendon organize his living room, kitchen, dining room, and the hall bathroom. He spends an hour doing that before he's satisfied, and sitting down on Dallon's couch, with his knees pulled to his chest, similar to how he was at his own home. Dallon had been over a few more times since then, but he usually didn't stay for more than a few hours at a time.

As if on instinct, Dallon's asking, "Do you need anything to drink or eat?" Outwardly, it looks as if he's being courteous, but internally he's worrying a little bit and wanting to be _sure_ Brendon's alright.

_"No thanks. I ate before I left home."_

"Do you need anything else?"

_"Dude, I'm fine. Sit down and play something on the TV."_

Dallon picks a random TV show from his recently watched list on Netflix, and fixes the volume to where it's loud enough to hear but not loud enough to deafen them, and, also, quiet enough to where Dallon can talk and Brendon can hear him properly. "Why'd you want to come over?"

Brendon shrugs. _"To hang out, mostly. I was also kind of curious about what your apartment was like. It smells like you. Pheromones and stuff."_

"Is that good or bad...?" Dallon quirks a brow.

_"I always thought the smell of an alpha this intense would make me want to hurl, but, honestly, it's fine. You know how houses always have a distinct scent no matter what you do? It's like that, but you. I feel safe, and not like I need to run or something."_

"I don't really, like, personally understand that, but I get what you mean. I kinda feel that way when I'm around my mom. Like, I mean, she's my mom for one thing, but I associate her specific scent to being safe, so whenever I have life problems, I usually just show up at her house and hang around for a few days until I'm cool."

Brendon nods. _"Same with my mom. I mean, she can be kind of a bitch sometimes, but y'know."_

"How so?"

_"That one comment she made about me being a freak when you came over the first time. She says stuff like that a lot because of how I am. I mean, she tries, but she's, like, embarrassed I guess. She doesn't get it because she's normal."_

Dallon nods this time. "I can get the parents not understanding thing. When I was in high school, I had some _wicked_ depression going on, and my parents weren't the best at handling it."

_"When's the last time you showered and brushed your teeth?"_

"Showered when I got up this morning, and brushed at the same time."

Brendon frowns a little bit. _"Kind of wanted to kiss you."_

"Do you want me to go shower and brush my teeth again...?"

_"Um, you don't have to. Sorry. I shower, brush, and floss three times a day. Can I try kissing you anyways?"_

"If you want, just as long as you're comfortable."

_"I'm having a good day, and I want to try to get to a point to where I can touch you without freaking out. I, uh... Have I told you I have haptephobia? Fear of being touched. Genophobia as well. That one is, uh... Google will tell you it's fear of being touched, like... sexually. I'm really weird."_

"That's not weird, man. I mean, okay, it kind of is, but shit happens, I suppose."

_"Also, uh, the me wanting to get to that point of not freaking out isn't out of nowhere. My therapist suggested, like, focusing on that stuff more after I met you. And now I've met you."_

"I get what you mean. I'm willing to do whatever I can to help you, alright? Like... say the word and I'm yours, basically."

Brendon snorts and silently giggles. _"You're kinda goofy."_

"Part of my charm, man."

Brendon cracks a half grin before he's putting his legs down, feet barely touching the floor, and scooting towards Dallon a little bit. Dallon watches him with something akin to curiosity. He doesn't make any moves himself, wanting anything that happens to be on Brendon's terms, despite the underlying urge he has to make a move himself.

Dallon's wearing his own pair of leather gloves, out of courtesy to Brendon. Brendon, obviously, is wearing his, and Dallon thinks that both of those facts are the only reason Brendon's grabbing his hand right now.

The second ever kiss he gets from Brendon is a little longer and a little _deeper._ Dallon's half tempted to chase after Brendon's lips when he pulls away, but he doesn't. He opens his eyes again, though, and bites his lip, praying Brendon's alright when he sees the slightly perplexed look on his face. Brendon lets go of his hand so he can sign. _"That wasn't as scary as I thought it'd be. Where do you keep cloths at...? I--I want to wash my lips off. Please don't be offended."_

"No, no, don't worry about it. Uh, I keep them on the middle shelf in the hall closet. They're hard to miss."

Brendon mouths, "Thank you," as he gets up.

***

Dallon takes Brendon home about two hours before his mother is supposed to be home. A question pops into Dallon's head when Brendon lets him into the apartment with him. "How do you and your mom, like, survive here? You're both omegas, and you know how alphas usually are."

 _"We've had a few incidents but we're usually okay. Some alphas think they need to take on the responsibility of being the head of our household."_ Brendon rolls his eyes a little bit and points towards the shoes. _"We're also both on suppressants so, um, heats usually aren't a huge problem. You ever notice how there's a lot of locks on our doors and how there's the gate type things over the windows?"_

"Jesus, man." Dallon makes a face. "Kind of glad I'm an alpha now. Don't have to worry about that shit."

Brendon raises his eyebrows. _"You kind of have to, dude. Worry, I mean."_

"You know what I mean. Uh--do you want me to leave?"

_"I pointed towards the shoes. I want to hang out with you more, but in the comfort of my own home."_

_"Oh!_ Alright. I got you."

***

"Can I meet him?"

"Meet who?" Dallon's genuinely confused, mostly since he's tired, and still having his morning cup of coffee from Starbucks as he walks through the assisted living center he works at. Josh, his loving friend who normally has terrible timing, is tailing him, eyes wide, bright, and excited.

" _Him._ Your mate. You always talk about how great he is, and I want to meet him. I'm curious."

"Maybe. I don't know. He's kind of overwhelming if you don't know him," Dallon trails off near the end of that, since he's rooting through a pen cup on someone's desk for a black pen to use later when he's doing his morning rounds around the facility.

"How so? Is he obnoxious?"

"Not really, honestly. Like, he can be, I guess, but it's more like he has almost crippling OCD, and you'd have to bend over backwards before he'd let you anywhere near him. Also, you're an alpha, he's an omega, and he's wary around alphas, besides me."

"So? He sounds interesting. I mean, I have social anxiety--"

"But you don't start screaming out of reflex if someone so much as touches you, even on accident. He's--he's mute most of the time, too. Do you even know sign language?"

Josh bears his wrist to Dallon for the first time. _'I'm deaf,'_ are the first words his own soulmate is going to say to him whenever they meet each other, apparently. "Of course I do. Man, you're so protective over him. Although it's _sweet,_ I hope I'm not as intense."

Dallon squints, and mutters, "Fuck off," before he and Josh have to go separate ways, since they work in different parts of the facility.

***

 **Brendon:** I missed my bus going home because I was having a bit of a fit.

 **Brendon:** By fit, I mean that someone spilled something on me, and I spent fifteen precious minutes scrubbing my shirt.

 **Dallon:** Do you need a ride home?

 **Brendon:** :( Yeah. Would you be willing to drive one of my friends home too?

 **Dallon:** Sure. I have one of my friends with me, though

 **Brendon:** Are they nice

 **Dallon:** It's Josh. You've seen pictures of him, right?

 **Brendon:** You got me added on Snapchat. By the way, the friend that I have with me saw one picture of Josh and has a crush on him. It's been four months and he still asks me if he can meet him smh.

 **Dallon:** Today's his lucky day. What school do you go to?

 **Brendon:** Capitol

 **Brendon:** I'll see you!

***

"Dude, you always have either great timing when you want something, or horrible timing." Dallon sighs as he turns his phone screen off. He knows where Brendon's school is, since it's the one he went to however long ago.

"What do you mean?"

"He needs a ride home from school, and his school is closer to here than your apartment."

_"School?"_

"He's eighteen. Calm down."

***

When Brendon puts his phone back into his pocket, he gently taps his knuckles onto Tyler's shoulder, as to not startle him. Unfortunately, he still jumps, but mouths, _"What?"_

_"He said he could give us both rides. Also, Josh is with him."_

_"Cute Snapchat guy?"_

_"Yep."_

_"I'm getting laid tonight, man."_

Brendon puts his hand on his forehead. _"I hate you sometimes."_

_"Luckily I love you."_

And now Brendon rolls his eyes.

***

"Which one is he?" Josh whispers as Brendon and his friend are walking over.

"The one with the gloves. Don't touch him," Dallon mutters back.

Brendon offers Dallon a small smile and half-second peck on the cheek. Dallon smiles stupidly, but his face sobers up when Josh is greeting Brendon's friend. Well, not sobers up, but more like his attention is drawn from his... Not boyfriend quite yet. "Hey, man. I like your jacket."

Brendon's friend frowns a little bit, and sighs.

Dallon catches Brendon's wide eyes, and wants to laugh at his tone when he quietly says, "Oh my god, he's about to _talk."_

"I'm deaf." His voice is a little too loud, and Dallon has a little trouble understanding him, but when the words click in his head, _he's_ mumbling, "Oh my god."

Neither Brendon nor Dallon have ever had the chance to witness two soulmates meeting each other, but either of their hearts are swelling when Josh is yanking Tyler forward by his jacket, and _hugging him._

Brendon laughs when Tyler's spelling out, _"W-H-A-T T-H-E F-U-C-K?"_ without returning the hug.

_"He said, 'Hey, man, I like your jacket,' you doofus. Fucking hug him, oh my god."_

Dallon turns towards Brendon to say, "This is fucking adorable."

Brendon nods, grinning widely.

The ride from the school to Tyler's home, since he lives closest, is almost silent, since the newest united couple sits in the back seat, hugging each other, and crying. _Crying._ Dallon rolls his eyes a few times, and Brendon's biting his lip, trying not to laugh.

***

Brendon's therapist suggests he spend a weekend at Dallon's apartment, so that's how Dallon finds himself making sure every nook and cranny in his apartment is clean, organized, and free of clutter on a Friday afternoon that he would, usually, be spending in his underwear, watching whatever show he felt like watching.

He also spends a good hour on just his room alone. It's not _messy,_ but in Brendon's eyes, Dallon figures it's atrocious. His laundry hamper was almost full, so he ends up doing a few loads of laundry, and, usually, he puts off folding his laundry and/or hanging it up for as long as possible, but he doesn't dick around with it this time.

He also has to go through his room and put any and all sex toys, lubricants, and condoms into a specific location to where Bendon, presumably, wouldn't be able to easily see or find any of them. (It's not as if Dallon's some sort of sex fiend, but more like his libido increases ridiculously whenever he's in a rut.) (Everything considered sexual or used to... aid the act of sex gets put into a box that's kept at the back of the shelf and all the way to the left side in his closet.)

Brendon, as expected, _does_ go through Dallon's apartment, despite Dallon deeming it clean. He doesn't spend more than an hour cleaning it himself, but Dallon's still slightly overwhelmed, and a little more overwhelmed when Brendon's shooing him into his bathroom, telling him that he _has_ to take a shower and brush his teeth.

Dallon doesn't protest, genuinely just wanting to do anything to both appease Brendon and anything to make sure he's comfortable and stress free. When he's done in the shower and dressed in sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt, plus his leather gloves, Brendon allows him to join him in the living room so they can play a TV show, watch, like, ten minutes of it, then start getting into a deep conversation.

"My therapist gave me a list of things I should try," Brendon says quietly.

Dallon raises his eyebrows. "What's on the list?"

"Uh. A lot of stuff, honestly. It's kind of overwhelming and scary because it's... it's sort of long. Some of them require you to be involved, some of them are just things I can do on my own." Brendon plays with his fingers in his lap, making nervous eye contact with Dallon.

"Do you have the list with you?"

"Uh, no. I left it in the binder I use for school. The special education class usually doesn't get much homework, if any, or I would've brought it with me." Brendon shrugs. "Mostly it's just, like... physical contact, and trying to make that not as scary. I mean, I'm working on it, but it's difficult. One day, I want to get to a point to where I can have sex, because I don't want to die a virgin."

Dallon starts cackling. "Sex is pretty great. Hit me up whenever you're ready, and we can talk about it." Dallon also winks, and Brendon snorts, mouthing, _"Stop,"_ at him with a smile.

"Back to the list. The, uh, physical contact stuff... My therapist explained that starting with small stuff would help. She also said that, like, forcing myself to actually touch people would help lessen that fear, kind of like how if someone had social anxiety, me, for example, going out and talking to people and forcing yourself to do... social things is how you, like... treat it, I suppose. Am I making sense?"

Dallon nods. "My doctor basically told me I needed to force myself to do things when my depression stuff was really bad. Like, I definitely get that. I still have days where I just want to sleep all day, and, like, die or something, but I just gotta... get up and seize the day, or whatever the hell."

"I'm kind of afraid to hold your hand."

"The last time you did, you cut off circulation to my fingers, man."

"My point." Brendon huffs and takes to signing. _"I clench my hands whenever I'm... stressed, I guess, meaning I tend to squeeze pretty hard whenever I have to hold someone's hand or whatever."_

_"Wanna try...? I mean, like you said, you kinda just... gotta do it to quit being afraid, or whatever."_

Brendon bites the inside of his cheek, but takes one of his gloves off, and motions for Dallon to do the same. Dallon stares at Brendon's hand, since he hasn't ever seen him without gloves on. His hand isn't anything spectacular, but his nails are trimmed and clean, filed properly as well. Dallon's nails aren't disgusting or anything, but they aren't as neat looking as Brendon's are, since he tends to bite them.

Brendon scoots over on the couch, and takes a deep breath before he's slowly intertwining his fingers with Dallon's. Dallon gently rubs his thumb across Brendon's, and Brendon returns the gesture by rubbing his thumb across Dallon's index finger. Brendon does squeeze Dallon's hand pretty hard, but not as hard as the day they met each other.

Brendon's breathing patterns are shaky and unstable as he shifts so he can lean on Dallon's shoulder. His body is stiff, and he's not letting himself relax. Although sort of nervous, Dallon's body is relaxed, definitely a sharp contrast to Brendon's. "You okay...?"

"Nervous. Not panicky. Yet."

Dallon squeezes Brendon's hand a little bit in response. They quit talking after that, rather opting to just... watch the show on the TV at the moment. Eventually, Brendon starts to relax a little bit, Dallon can feel it, and can smell his anxiety slowly becoming less and less intense. "Are you still doing okay?" He asks, just in case.

Brendon nods. "I think it's because you smell good. Do you know if that's normal? To just, like... chill because of an alpha's scent?"

"When my dad was still alive, my mom was always really calm whenever she was in his presence, so maybe. Pretty sure, actually. I dunno. I know it's normal for an omega's scent to be calming, but I usually only hear about them being getting intimidated whenever they catch even a whiff of alpha stink."

"You don't stink, though. You smell, like, _really_ nice right now." Brendon draws out the really, and sighs a little bit, and Dallon mentally squints. "Do I smell good too?"

Dallon's gentle and tries not to be too intrusive as he pushes Brendon to be in a sitting position, and as he sniffs at his neck. "You do, at least to me."

When he goes back to his original position, Brendon's scooting over again, head on Dallon's shoulder. "This really isn't as scary as I thought it'd be. I think if you were anyone else, I'd probably be freaking out right now, though. So I dunno if this counts."

"It's progress, I suppose. I'd just take what you can get, and not question it. Progress is progress, no matter how small."

Brendon does hit a limit ten or so minutes later, and gets up to go use hand sanitizer, and to wash the side of his face off. Dallon puts his own leather glove back on, and pulling his sleeve down, making sure his wrist isn't bared at all, knowing that's one of the things Brendon would get onto him about.

***

"What do you want to eat for dinner?" Dallon asks from his kitchen as he looks through his fridge. He knew he forgot something, and groceries, specifically groceries that vegans can eat, were the one thing he forgot.

"Don't really care as long as it doesn't have meat, dairy, or eggs in it."

"Okay, uh... I have... baby carrots and strawberries." Dallon looks over at Brendon, sheepishly. "I forgot to go grocery shopping."

Brendon rolls his eyes, sighing. _"Wanna go have grocery store adventures?"_

"What about grocery shopping is an adventure?"

Brendon shrugs. _"I dunno. Wanna go, though?"_

"At eight in the evening?"

_"Why not? I need to eat sometime."_

"Alright then."

***

They don't actually end up leaving Dallon's apartment until a quarter past nine, since Brendon has to shower for the second time since he'd been at Dallon's apartment, and since he spends half an hour going through the clothes he brought with him, trying to find something fashionable that also covered every inch of his body.

Similar to every other time Brendon's in Dallon's car, he puts the seat belt on, then places his hands between his thighs, leaning forward a little bit, hunched over sort of, trying not to touch anything more than necessary. "Brendon, can I make a suggestion?"

Brendon looks over at Dallon. They're at a stop light right now, so Dallon can look at him.

"Sit up straight and lean back in the seat. It's safer, for one thing, and you said that your therapist told you to go out of your comfort zone. I mean, you don't have to, but, again, a suggestion."

Brendon bites his lip and scrunches his face up as he obeys Dallon. Or, well... It wasn't necessarily a command, but Brendon sort of feels like it was. Not that he's complaining. He's kind of learned that he _kind of_ likes being told what to do. Within reason, of course, and so long as Dallon's the only one telling him what to do, otherwise he's defiant as all get-out.

"More comfortable, at all?"

Brendon shrugs, an unsure breath being let out of his mouth. "My back feels funny."

"How so?"

"Like there's some presence on it. I don't like it."

"You don't have to stay like that if it's really bugging you, man."

"I'm going to stay like this. Need to."

***

"I can't believe I managed to sit up properly in the car," Brendon's mumbling quietly as he checks himself over, making sure his outfit is alright, before he goes into a store with Dallon.

"Am I allowed to be outwardly proud of you for that?" Dallon asks, one eyebrow sorta raised.

_"If you want, but it's just a little pathetic, honestly."_

_"Mm, not pathetic. More like something small, and considering you've been at my apartment for a collective six hours, I'd say you're doing better than I thought you would."_

The smile Brendon gives him is shy, and Dallon's heart swells when Brendon tentatively takes his hand. "Baby steps, Dal."

"Baby steps."

***

 _"What kind of stuff do you want?"_ Dallon signs once they're in the store. He's not sure what vegans even eat, besides, like... vegetables.

_"Well, can we buy a can of 'not crippling OCD?'"_

_"I wish we could, but we can't do that quite yet. I was talking about food. I, personally, eat a lot of meat and dairy stuff, so I have no idea what kind of stuff you eat."_

_"I eat a lot of stuff, man. We could have mac-n-cheese."_

_"That has cheese."_

_"They make vegan cheese, vegan margarine, and vegan milk substitutes, dude. Do you want to try some dope ass vegan mac-n-cheese?"_

_"It sounds... interesting. Are you gonna cook it?"_

Brendon nods. _"I cook most of my own meals. By most of, I mean almost all. The last meal I had that I didn't cook myself was when you came over that one time in June."_

_"Gotcha."_

***

Brendon's wallet falls out of his pocket without him noticing while he's trying to decide which type of noodle he wants, and Dallon bites his cheek when an overzealous employee picks the wallet up for him, and talks slowly, enunciating a little too much. "Sir, you dropped this."

_"Tell her I'm not deaf and that I can hear her just fine. Bitch."_

Dallon snorts. "He's not deaf, he's mute. He can hear you just fine, ma'am." Dallon takes the wallet from her, and hands it to Brendon himself. "We appreciate your effort, though."

"How come you don't talk?" Dallon asks quietly once the employee who'd picked up the wallet for them is out of earshot.

 _"I... can't? I mean, there's nothing physically wrong with my vocal cords, but my voice just quits working whenever I'm in public, or in places with a lot of people. I'm sure my best f_ _r_ _iend being deaf doesn't help, since I can't talk to him because he won't understand me. My therapist has some lengthy explanation for it, but to sum it up, it's because I'm a very,_ very _stressed out little guy."_

"Alright. Awesome. I mean, not awesome, but y'know."

Brendon rolls his eyes. _"Just help me pick out a pasta. Preferably one that isn't colorful."_

***

Dallon makes a provocative noise when he takes a bite of the mac-n-cheese Brendon had made. It doesn't taste like regular Kraft mac-n-cheese, but it's still delicious, and he still finds himself saying, "This is fucking awesome," around a mouthful of it.

Brendon cringes, saying, "Thanks, but don't talk with your mouth full. It's disgusting."

Dallon swallows before asking, "Why not?"

"It's gross seeing chewed up food. Why else?"

"Fair enough." Dallon shrugs, and makes a mental note to refrain from talking with his mouth full for the rest of the meal. "I didn't ask you how school went today."

Brendon shrugs. "Same as it usually does. I go to school twenty minutes before everyone else does so I don't have to deal with people in the hall, sit in the special education classroom until Tyler shows up, try not to kill the teacher for treating the class like dumb asses, then I suck it up and ride the bus home while trying not to freak out, and... yeah."

"Why are you in the special education class? You're not... like..."

"What? Stupid?"

"Not what I meant."

"I couldn't get through traveling around the school after every class, and couldn't handle sitting in a room with so many people without 'having a fit,' as my mom would like to put it, Also, I'm like... mute, and a bunch of my teachers didn't get that when I was in regular classes. The special ed teacher knows sign language and doesn't give us homework usually, so I don't, like, complain. Usually. I do complain about her acting like we're all stupid, though. Like, okay, most of the people in the class are dyslexic or autistic, there's one kid with Down's, there's me, who doesn't talk, then there's Tyler, who's deaf. I probably can't go to college since I'm not learning anything substantial, so, while you make money and basically be my sugar daddy, I will... do whatever I do on weekends, but all the time."

"You _could_ go to college, bro. Or take online classes instead of going to regular high school."

"Tried Connections Academy. Fucking hated it. I was _required_ to talk to my teachers on the phone at least every two weeks, so that lasted about a month before I went back to regular high school. Tyler also texted me every day at least five times, begging me to come back."

"Is Tyler your only friend?" Dallon takes a sip of the glass of wine he wanted with dinner, and Brendon takes a sip of grape juice, since he's underage still. (He was in a bit of a silly mood, and insisted on having grape juice, so he could pretend he was all 'cool' and 'old' like Dallon.)

"Oh, god no. I just talk about him a lot because he's my best friend. Spencer graduates this year, unfortunately, but he's one of my other friends. Um... There's Pete, but mostly I just pass notes with him whenever I eat lunch. There's Joe, and I like him especially. He doesn't coddle me _at all,_ and he's obvious about it too. Like, it's not like he touches me all the time or makes fun of me or anything, but he just treats me like a regular person, which I appreciate."

"Based on those descriptions, I like Joe the most. Aside from Tyler. Josh _does not_ shut up about Tyler."

"I didn't even tell you about the others, dude."

"Then enlighten me, man."

"Okay then. I will. Spencer, like... He's cool. He knew me in middle school when the OCD stuff got really bad, so he knew me when I wasn't all weird and fucked up. He's been pretty supportive and besides Tyler, he's the only friend I ever have over. He's also the only beta I know."

"What am I, chopped liver?"

"Shut up." Brendon smiles and laughs a little bit. "You're more than a friend to me, so you don't count."

Dallon sticks his tongue out at Brendon.

"Anyways, Pete. He flips me shit a lot, but I don't mind him. He means well. He's super nice, too, and buys me stuff from the vending machines whenever I eat at school. I'm like... surprisingly alright with the vending machines. I dunno why. He acts like a big scary alpha, and before I got to know him I kind of thought he was one, but he's an omega, man."

"What about Joe?"

"Alpha. He intimidates me, but he's just, like... chill. Kind of like you. Except you're more chill. He's a few years younger than me, too."

"Your friends sound nice, to be honest."

"What about yours? I only ever hear about Josh."

"Mm... I dunno. He's kind of my only friend. After high school, a bunch of my friends quit talking to me. Like, I get it, but it sucked I guess. I have a few buddies at work, though. I think I like Patrick the most. He's one of the doctors there, and he has a few kids that he never shuts up about. It's so adorable. His wife is really pretty too. Then there's Breezy. She's a nurse, and, like, the love of my life. Not really, but in some alternate universe, I wouldn't be surprised if I married her or something. She's beautiful and really nice. Also, she kind of wants to meet you."

"You talk about me a lot, don't you?"

Dallon shrugs and avoids eye contact. "I kind of, like... Think you're pretty awesome."

"Seriously? I'm kind of annoying with all the... stuff."

"I don't find you annoying, though. Overwhelming sometimes, sure, but, like, believe it or not, I kind of love you, man."

"You're kind of a great person." Brendon sighs a little bit, in a good way.

"I try my best."

***

Brendon absconds with Dallon's duvet around the time he decides he's tired. He sleeps in his shirt and his gloves, still, but he swaps his jeans out for leggings and a different pair of socks. Before actually sleeping, though, he has a sleepy conversation with Dallon. They're both planning to sleep on opposite ends of the couch, with the footrests up so they don't have to touch each other.

"Hey, man, can I ask you stuff?" The younger man mumbles quietly.

Dallon yawns, and nods. It's one in the morning, and he usually goes to bed around ten. "Go for it."

"Okay, uh, like... I already ask you stuff a lot, because, um... It's not called obsessive-compulsive disorder for nothing."

"Dude, it's fine. I get it."

"What about sexual stuff? I can't imagine that you're _totally_ okay with with me not wanting to do anything sexual. And what about heats and ruts? Those are probably gonna line up."

"We can just avoid each other for that specific week. Remember that one week a few weeks ago where I didn't talk to you much and I didn't let you come over? Why do you think that is?"

"Weird mood...?"

"Rut, man. My point is that they invented masturbation for a reason."

"But what if I'm here one time and that stuff, like... happens?"

"Then I'll do whatever you tell me to do, whether it's take you home, or help. And by help, I mean, like, water and food and general self-care. I'm not one of those guys who are like, 'It was my instincts! I can't help it!' I was raised better than that. Anyways, you think I've never been around an omega in heat before? I can handle myself. Do you know when you're due for one? Because we can make plans for you to not come over that specific week."

"Not for another few months."

"And that's about when I'm due for a rut."

"But what if I _want_ to sleep with you?"

"Then ask, and I'll see what I can do. We'd have to be safe about it, of course, and I know you've got that one phobia, forgot what it was called, but it's up to you. Like, I'm giving you control of whatever happens between us."

"And what if I want _you_ to take control? Sometimes I need others to be in charge, and I'm sure that would be one of those times."

"Tell me, then. I'll probably ask you ten thousand questions, literally, but I'm not incapable."

"What if I ever live with you? What then?"

"I don't see that happening for at _least_ another year. You still have high school, and I live too far from Capitol for you to go there again, unless I, myself, take you to school, or unless you get rides from someone else. Most of the teenagers in this complex go to _West_ Capitol, or private school. West Capitol is a shitty school, too. Like, in this area, Capitol's your best bet. Also, fuck--sorry, I talk way too much."

"You're alright. I dunno... I just... I worry too much about this kind of stuff. I really do want to get to a point to where we can comfortably, just... do things."

"Baby steps, alright? You can't magically make yourself better overnight. Like, it took me three years to even be moderately functional when it came to depression stuff. It didn't happen overnight. I had to work at it, and it wasn't easy. I'm willing to do whatever I can to help you, though." Dallon reaches out from under his blanket, palm up, and Brendon holds his hand for a few minutes before he's retracting it, and going back to cocooning himself in Dallon's duvet.

"I think a baby step I'm taking right now is using your duvet. It smells like you, so it's like an indirect way of cuddling."

"That's pretty adorable. No offense." Dallon smiles fondly, and yawns.

"Maybe next time we hang out for a weekend, you can come over to my apartment. Or, well, my mom's, since she pays the rent."

"Maybe so. It's up to you."

***

Saturday goes alright for the most part, and in the afternoon, Brendon's kind of cornering Dallon, and, with a red face, saying, "I kind of want to try making out with you."

"That's... not going to be easy, since you don't like being touched."

"I know. That's the point. You said baby steps and this is one of them. Also, I said _try."_

"When would you, uh...? Wanna try?"

"Like, now, but I want you to brush your teeth and floss." Brendon's pinching the material of the sock on his left foot, his other leg dangling off the couch almost haphazardly.

"Alright." Dallon gets up, and goes to the bathroom in his bedroom. He brushes his teeth, flosses, then uses mouthwash for good measure. That all takes a good ten minutes, and when he walks back out. Brendon's got both of his legs pulled to his chest, and he's looking up at Dallon, and biting his lip nervously.

"I used mouthwash too."

"Thanks. How do we, uh... do this?"

"Have you ever made out with anyone before?"

"Uh, no. The first kiss I had was in June. With you. Would sitting across from you work?"

"Not really, honestly. You could try sitting in my lap, but I can't guarantee that Dallon Junior won't make an appearance. Same goes if we tried any other positions."

"How about standing up? People do that sometimes, I'm pretty sure."

"Yeah, we could try that." Dallon smiles politely, and gets back up from the couch. "Do you want mood music?"

"Mood music?"

"Yeah. I have a CD I made for myself specifically for, uh... like, romantic and intimate stuff. Not sex, though. I hate music during sex. Makes it weird."

"What songs are on it?"

"Slow songs. A lot of classic rock, mostly ballads. I think, uh... Faithfully by Journey, and Veteran of the Psychic Wars by Blue Oyster Cult. Those are two of my favorites to make out to, honestly."

"I feel like it might be too much. I, uh, get overwhelmed easily if you haven't noticed."

"I've noticed, trust me."

Brendon gets up and stands in front of Dallon. "What do I do with my hands."

Dallon reaches down, hands hovering near Brendon's, then moving them up to rest on his shoulders once he gets a permissive nod. "Can I put my hands on your hips?"

"Maybe. Try it, I guess."

He nods, and gently places his hands on Brendon's hips. "Good or bad?"

"It's... okay. For now. Make the first move."

Dallon has to bend down a good ten inches, silently cursing omegas for being so freaking tiny. He figures his neck and upper back might be sore, but he ignores the thought, since his lips are on Brendon's, and since Brendon's standing up on his toes a little bit to reach him better, He does pull away for a second to ask, "Good or bad?"

"Good."

And he nods. Again. They spend a few minutes kissing each other, until Brendon gets tired of standing, and says he'll take the risk of a visit from Dallon Junior by sitting on his lap. Brendon sits with his groin area closer to Dallon's than the older expected, but he doesn't really complain, since he's enjoying the non-sexual intimacy. He never realizes how starved for affection he is until Brendon either kisses him, hugs him, or holds his hand, and he's definitely realizing now since there's lips on his.

Brendon's awkward, and doesn't really know what he's doing, but Dallon leads, easily taking control of the situation, hands still on Brendon's hips, holding him firmly in place. Brendon tries using tongue at some point, but that only lasts for a few seconds before he's pulling away and scrubbing at his mouth, saying, "That's going to take more time."

"It's alright. You're doing good right now." Dallon praises him, squeezing one of his hips a little bit, and grinning when Brendon has to hide his face.

"Shh. You're not allowed to make me blush."

"Why not? I meant what I said. You're doing really good, and I'm proud of you, alright? I figure this is taking a lot out of you."

"How long do you suppose we spent doing that?"

"Ten minutes, maybe."

"Do you think that's good?"

"Yes, I do."

Brendon nods, satisfied, climbing off of Dallon's lap with a grin on his face. "See? I'm getting there. Though... I'm having a good day today."

"It's alright, man. Don't sweat it."

***

Dallon takes Brendon home early Monday morning, then takes him to school once he has his things. Brendon shyly asks him to walk him to his class, since they got there a little later than he usually does, and since he kind of wants to feel protected, at least in some capacity.

Tyler's waiting for Brendon by the door, looking relieved when he finally shows up. He signs, asking Brendon for permission to hug him, and Brendon nods. _"Go for it. I've been having a good couple of days."_

 _"That's really good."_ They hug for about ten seconds, then Tyler's asking, _"Dallon, what are you doing here?"_

_"Brendon wanted me to walk him to his class. I'll walk him, then probably leave after that. I have to go to work in a few hours anyways."_

Dallon puts an arm over Brendon's shoulder when he asks him to, and Tyler sticks pretty close, either of them glaring at anyone who so much as looks at Brendon wrong. Dallon kisses Brendon on the forehead once the younger of the two is sat down at his seat, and he's about to leave, but Brendon's teacher stops him, asking him who he is. Brendon translates what she'd said to Tyler, who just looked confused.

Dallon holds his wrist up, and points at it, then turns away from Brendon so he can sign. _"He wanted me to walk him to class, and I didn't want him to be feeling bad right off the bat today. I've, uh, gotta go, though. Need to get ready for work and stuff, since I'm supposed to be an adult and all that."_

Before he walks out, Brendon grabs his hand. _"One more kiss. On my forehead."_

Dallon rolls his eyes and pecks his forehead, and messes his hair up. _"I'll see you!"_

***

Brendon's cutting up some fruit for himself when his mother gets home that evening. She takes a shower, as per Brendon's request, then sits next to him on the couch while he eats, and asks, "How was your weekend?"

"It was really good. I was able to hug him and hold his hand, and we even made out for, like, ten minutes before I had to put some distance between us. I also only showered two times on Saturday, and was able to eat one of my meals without washing my silverware off beforehand."

"I'm proud of you. That's really good, honey. Was he nice to you?"

"Of course he was." Brendon frowns a tiny bit. "He's really respectful. You've met him before. Hell, he's here almost every weekend anyways. I just--I wanted to get used to being around him."

***

Brendon sees a poster hung up on the bulletin board in the hall, saying, _"SHORT STORY CONTEST -- Contact Counselor Black for further information."_ He's curious, and he's due for a visit to the guidance counselor anyways, so he steps towards the office area, waving at Ms. Orzechowski, the secretary. She's really nice and Brendon had, or still has, a tiny crush on her. She smiles at him and asks him how he's doing. He motions for a pen, since she doesn't know sign language, and since he's nonvocal this morning.

He writes, _"I'm doing good! Going to go talk to Ms. Black about some story contest or something. It looks interesting."_

She claps once. "You should do it. She talked to me, and told me it's something about soulmates. I think she said you have to meet yours to qualify for it, though."

 _"I met mine last April."_ He shows her the paper, and she gasps.

"I'm happy for you! That's amazing!" She grins wide, and Brendon nods as he walks through the small hallway, knocking on the frame to the doorway to the guidance counselor's office.

Brendon shies away a little bit when she turns around in her desk chair, looking at him with eyes so fiercely blue that it, literally, freaks him out. "Brendon! Hey!" She smiles, and motions towards one of the seats.

Brendon takes his jacket off, and places it on the seat before sitting, making sure not to touch the armrests or the back of it, since so many people sit in it everyday.

"How are you doing?" She asks as she gets up to close the door.

_"Okay. Wanted to ask about the poster on the bulletin board about a short story contest."_

"Well, there's a reward of one thousand dollars, for one thing." She sorts through her desk a little bit before handing him a sheet of paper. "Those are the instructions for it. You need your name, grade level, homeroom teacher, or just your teacher, since you don't have a homeroom, and it needs to be at least a thousand words long."

 _"How about the topic?"_ Brendon mouths along with his sign language, since she struggles with hers a little bit.

"The company who is hosting it wants stories about people meeting their soulmates, but they kind of want it to be artsy. Not their exact words, but do you know what I mean?"

 _"Like a bunch of vague analogies about eyes and lips and stuff like that?"_ Brendon silently chuckles a little bit.

"Yes, like that. Have you met yours yet?"

_"I did last April."_

"That's great! What's he like?" She's doing that nosy counselor/therapist thing, and Brendon's tempted to roll his eyes. He can tolerate his therapist, but he doesn't quite trust Ms. Black enough to be overly honest with her. Tyler fucking loves her, though, for whatever reason.

_"He's really tall and he's really nice. He's really respectful of my boundaries and stuff, and he's actually kind of helped me make a decent about of headway on learning how to cope with my stuff, and how to start to overcome a few fears and whatnot."_

"What school does he go to?"

_"Um. He doesn't go to school. He's six years older than me. Twenty four right now. He's a CNA at an assisted living facility. He's working on getting his nursing degree right now. I think he does online classes for it, and he told me that in the future he's going to try working on being a doctor. He's an alpha and all, and he's really caring and nurturing and all that. He's gonna be a good dad one day."_

"And how do you do with... physical contact?" She quirks a brow.

_"I do alright. I mean, objectively it's not very good, but for me, it's... progress. I can usually hold his hand without freaking out, and I can usually kiss him on the lips sometimes. Not for very long, but it's something, y'know?"_

She nods. "I'd love to talk more, but I have a few students scheduled to come here and talk about a few things. Do you need anymore clarification on the short story contest?"

Brendon shakes his head. _"These directions should be enough."_

***

Brendon winces when he sees Tyler with a cast on his wrist. He looks like hell, head on his desk, hands in his lap.

Brendon pokes him in the arm with his pencil before he sits down.

He signs, _"What happened to your wrist?"_

Tyler pulls his phone out.

 

 **Tyler:** it's broken

 **Brendon:** Yeah no shit, Sherlock.

 **Brendon:** I meant how.

 **Tyler:** i tripped because, surprisingly, i didn't hear my brother warn me about something that was at the top of the stairs, so i fell down them, and fucked my wrist up

 **Tyler:** i am sixteen how do they forget im deaf

 **Brendon:** :(

 **Brendon:** I'd hug you, but y'know.

 

Tyler huffs a little bit and grins at his friend.

 

 **Tyler:** i mean like my sister is deaf too so seriously you'd think they'd learn to, like, sign things rather than talk

 

_"Remember when I was still getting used to the fact you were deaf?"_

 

 **Tyler:** yes you would call my phone or youd call me on skype on your phone before they had webcam stuff for the mobile app and i'd have to text you like

 **Tyler:** "brendon im deaf"

 

Brendon starts giggling, silently, and Tyler grins at him.

***

Brendon starts drafting his short story at one of the tables in the cafeteria. Tyler sits across from him, eating, and Pete plops down next to him with a bottle of strawberry-lime ICE. Spencer catches sight of him as well and sits next to Tyler, and talks about his latest fling. Joe shows up as well, eventually, since he tends to follow Pete almost everywhere, and since Brendon doesn't talk to him on his own, usually.

The three other teenagers talk among themselves, occasionally asking Brendon yes or no questions that he can nod or shake his head in response to. Pete tries asking Tyler stuff, and Tyler squints. "Dude, m'deaf. Can't understand you."

Pete leans over to Brendon, quietly asking, "What did he say?"

Brendon gets Spencer's attention, and asks him to translate. _"Tell Pete that Tyler said he's deaf and can't understand him."_

"Brendon said you need to learn sign language."

Brendon throws his pencil at Spencer, then tells Tyler what he'd said. Tyler snorts, but agrees. _"Quit being an asshole, Spence. Tell him what I actually said."_

"He said that Tyler said he's deaf and couldn't understand you, so either have me or Brendon translate. The last part I added on my own."

Pete makes an 'o' shape with his mouth, and hands Brendon his pencil before Spencer could steal it from him.

***

Brendon spends three hours after school about a month after his weekend at Dallon's, cleaning the apartment, since he's set to come over for dinner. His mother really just wants to get to know him more, wanting to know what kind of guy Brendon was going to get involved with eventually.

It's also the first week of November by now, meaning Holiday season is fast approaching, and that Brendon's probably going to be depending on his mother and Dallon a lot more than usual, since family gatherings are a thing, and since he's probably going to have to deal with a lot of unwanted attention from family members.

He has made even more progress, though, with being physically affectionate, but only with Dallon. He's the only person he trusts enough to experiment with, given they're kind of, like, destined to be together or some John Green-ass bullshit.

Dallon shows up around five, looking exhausted.

_"What's wrong?"_

_"Long day at work. Someone died this morning and I happened to be the one who was sitting with them when it happened. Kind of shaken up, I guess. I mean, I've seen a few people die before, but it's still horrible and not fun whenever it happens."_

Brendon's eyes widen. _"That is horrible. What the fuck, man?"_

"He was in his one-twenties," Dallon says out loud as he's taking his shoes off, and as Brendon squirts a bit of hand sanitizer into his left hand as usual. "He's been saying weird things for a while now, and I think he just gave up, I guess. He was trying to hold on as long as possible for his family, but... yeah. It happens. His wife died a few weeks ago anyways, and it's always hard when you lose your mate after a ninety some odd years of being together."

 _"Makes me scared of losing you one day,"_ Brendon signs slowly, brows furrowing, and eyes starting to water.

Dallon sighs and gets permission before he pulls Brendon into a hug. "I'm not dying for a long time, don't you worry your pretty little head about it. At least we got long-ish lifespans, right?"

Brendon sighs as well, and holds the hug for a few more seconds before letting go and walking around the wall separating the hall and the living room so he can sit on the couch. Dallon's about to sit on the other end, but Brendon pats the spot next to him. "You can sit here."

So he does--he sits next to Brendon. Brendon tucks himself into Dallon's side, saying, "I'm glad that I'm comfortable being able to do this with you, but I wish I could be like this with everyone else."

"I don't wish you could cuddle with everyone else. I'm the alpha here."

"Hush. You know what I mean. I've been able to hug Tyler once in a while too, though. Usually I wouldn't ever touch him aside from poking his arm when I needed his attention. I also hugged my mom for the first time in five years last week. She cried."

"It's kind of weird how much can change in seven months," Dallon muses quietly.

"Not really. I mean, alright, it's such a short time frame, but I've been working on stuff with my therapist more than I was in the past, and you've been there to help when you can, and I've been working on changing my mindset and trying to work on my rationalizing skill."

"Rationalizing?"

"Yes. Like, the chances of me getting sick from touching your hand is almost zero, or trying to convince myself that, hey, sex isn't that scary, and it's a thing that people do. I've been trying to learn how to let shit go, too. I get obsessed when stuff happens."

"Honestly, I think if you actually had sex it'd help, because it really isn't that scary. Like, your first time always is, and I was hella nervous my first time, but you get used to it. Also, I'm not saying that you should have sex, but I'm just, like--okay, fuck, I'm going to shut up before I dig myself into a hole." Dallon scrubs the hand that's not on Brendon's shoulder down his face.

Brendon snorts.

"Anyways, on the obsessive thing--I kinda get that. I used to have horrible self esteem, so, like... If I did something stupid, I'd obsess over it for weeks--"

"For--"

"Shut up and don't make that fucking pun, or I'm booting you off this couch," Dallon's laughing throughout that statement, and Brendon hides his face in Dallon's chest, grinning stupidly. "Anyways, listen--my therapist told me to just let it go. I was mad about him saying that for a while, but he just said that I couldn't change what happened, or help it, and that it didn't really matter."

Brendon nods. "Uh, by the way... I'm, like, due for a... a heat sometime next week, and I've been--I've been feeling really affectionate. That's why."

"I can tell. You smell a little different than you usually do. I'm due for a rut next week as well. My body is being all weird and Dallon Junior keeps popping up at odd times, like, alright, I get it, but it's not time yet, bro."

"I was thinking... could I maybe come over...? I think I might--might be ready to, like... _do stuff,_ and I'd be especially willing next week, 'cause, uh, I get desperate and shit. Both of us are gonna have that stuff happen at the same time anyways, so I dunno."

"If you want to, and if you think you're ready, I wouldn't mind having, uh, company."

"Are you cool if my opinion changes? I'm having a really good day today and my mood could change but like my gut is telling me I'm gonna be fine for once instead of being panicky."

"I'll look into buying spermicidal lube and contraceptives, then. We should talk about this in depth later, though."

***

After dinner, Brendon stands on the balcony that splits off from his bedroom, smoking a cigarette with Dallon, trying not to freeze his ass off. The balcony is the only place in the apartment they can have privacy to discuss... _stuff._

"Does Capitol still give everyone time off during heats and ruts?"

"Yeah. It counts as exempt or whatever."

"And my work doesn't let anyone who's in heat or a rut to come in. Are you sure you want to come over?"

"You already told me you could control yourself, and you said I'm allowed to change my mind, even if we're in the middle of, uh, doing things. And I trust you. Also, like... I dunno. It's kind of embarrassing to be in heat with your mom in the house. I mean, I know she gets it, because, y'know, but it's so awkward, man."

"Okay, yeah, I understand that. I felt that way when I lived at home whenever I'd go into a rut. I mean, sorry if this is TMI, but I am _noisy._ Like, outside of sex stuff, I'm pretty quiet and withdrawn, but the second _stuff_ happens, I'm like--you know."

"Don't worry about TMI. Tyler gives me full detail on his sex life, especially since he met Josh." Brendon rolls his eyes and takes a drag of his cigarette. "I usually just pretend nothing's happening whenever I, uh, y'know. Usually the idea of sex is disgusting to me, but I'm, like... kind of curious. Still scared out of my mind, but you get me, right?"

"Like I said earlier, I think sex would probably do you some good. I, personally, am not against showing you that it's not scary, and that it's actually very fun." Dallon throws a suggestive look towards Brendon, trying not to start laughing, but he fails when Brendon lets out a drawn out snort.

"Shut the hell up. Oh my god." Brendon stubs his cigarette out in the ash tray, then throws the butt off of the balcony, since his mom doesn't know he smokes. Actually, she probably knows, but seeing and knowing are two wildly different things.

Dallon copies Brendon's actions, and finds himself caught off guard when he has an armful of eighteen year old standing up on his toes to kiss him on the lips. "Can I say that I love you?"

"Course you can. I love you too, by the way."

Brendon can't help the toothy smile that takes over his face.

***

Brendon comes over on Wednesday, and Dallon was forbidden to come to work from Tuesday to whenever. Brendon, mostly, is just feverish and a little sluggish, curling up either near Dallon, or on him, for the first few days, until it really hits him. There's two layers of blanket separating his and Dallon's bodies, but despite that, they're still basically glued to each other. Brendon wakes up Saturday morning, hard as a rock, butterflies going wild in his stomach, especially since Dallon's subtly dry humping one of his thighs in his sleep.

He's conflicted. He wants some sort of relief, but he's nervous. Not necessarily afraid, but definitely nervous. He frees one of his arms from the blanket that's wrapped around him after rolling over to face Dallon. He shakes him awake gently, and pecks him on the nose when his eyes blink open.

"Good morning," he mumbles with a quiet sigh. "I see that we have a couple of visitors. Or feel."

Brendon huffs and scoots forward a little bit, tucking his head into the space between Dallon's shoulder and his neck, breathing in his scent, letting himself melt a little bit, eyes sort of droopy and body relaxed.

"Do you need water or anything?"

Brendon shakes his head. "Not yet." He tugs Dallon's blanket cocoon open, and uncovers himself from his own blanket so he can scoot forward and press their bodies together. Dallon drapes the blanket over either of their bodies again once Brendon's got an arm around his torso, and his head resting on his (Dallon's) arm.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Really hard and really nervous, but that's about it. My stomach is doing the butterfly thing." Brendon lets his hand travel down, gently ghosting over the bulge in Dallon's sweatpants, whimpering slightly at how _big_ he is. "Is it--is it usually, uh... that--that big?"

"God, no."

"I think I--I wanna try, um..."

"You can say it, dude."

"I wanna try having sex. Like, immediately." Brendon can't bring himself to care as much as he usually does before he's crashing his lips against Dallon's, his hips moving of their own accord, whimpering just a little bit. Dallon kisses back, an arm thrown over Brendon's waist,

"Think you can go into my room, and sit on my bed while I get a few things?"

Brendon nods, admitting, "I kinda like it when you tell me to do stuff."

Dallon lets out a bit of a 'pff' noise, before he's slowly sitting up, and helping Brendon get into a sitting position. Brendon stumbles a little bit as he disappears into the hall, and Dallon meanders around his apartment, gathering four items; contraception, two bottles of water, and spermicidal lube. One of the bottles of water is for him, the other for Brendon. He grabs a Sharpie and marks a 'D' on his bottle and a 'B' on Brendon's.

Brendon's lying on his back, an arm across his stomach, and the other one over his eyes, breathing steadily. "You okay, B?"

"Still nervous."

"Understandable. Uh, I'm gonna--I'm gonna go get some latex gloves. Easier clean up, I guess. And towels. It, uh--it gets messy." Brendon just nods, and Dallon can see that his face gets a few shades darker.

Meanwhile, Brendon stays in the same position, mind running a thousand miles per hour. He's never really felt any urge to have sex with anyone, given he's always been terrified of it, but right now, he's sort of excited, once he gets past the nervousness. He figures his hormones and Dallon's pheromones have to do with it, but he's just kind of glad he's not feeling too anxious.

When Dallon comes back into the room with a few towels and a box of gloves, Brendon sits up, face still burning, playing with his fingers in his lap, waiting for further instruction. "Okay, uh... Can I still tell you what to do, or...?"

He nods. "I'll tell you if I wanna stop or slow down or whatever."

"Alright." The box of latex gloves get handed to him, and he notices Dallon's already wearing a pair. "Take your leather ones off and hand them to me, then put on a pair of those ones."

Dallon places the leather ones on top of his dresser, next to his own pair, before coming back over to the bed, taking the latex gloves and placing them on the nightstand, then shooing Brendon off of the bed so he can take the blanket off of it and place a few towels down, since he's not really looking to ruin his sheets or his mattress.

"Okay, alright, uh... Sorry--am I pushing you at all?"

Brendon shakes his head 'no.'

"Okay. Alright. Take your clothes off. Like, we can't exactly do anything if we're fully clothed, and you've been feverish anyways, so I don't want you overheating or anything."

Brendon peels his shirt off, then his pants, but not his underwear as he's crossing his arms over his chest self consciously. "Haven't ever, uh... undressed in front of anyone before. I don't know how I look."

"Put your arms at your sides," Dallon tells him as he takes his own shirt off, and as he shucks his sweatpants off, but not _his_ underwear, and tosses them towards the hamper. He looks Brendon up and down. "You're hot, honestly."

Brendon scrunches his face up.

Dallon chuckles. "I'm serious! I think you're hot. You've got a nice body. Mine's all... flabby and not toned, and you're all lean and cute."

"I think you look hot too, though. Anyways, what now?"

"Take your underwear off."

"You first."

Dallon lifts his hips up as he slides his briefs off, and Brendon squeaks when he catches sight of his dick.

"Jesus Christ."

"Is that a good 'Jesus Christ' or a bad 'Jesus Christ'?"

"More like a shocked one. How is it gonna, like... fit?"

"You'd be surprised," Dallon mumbles. After Brendon's underwear is off, he beckons him over to the bed, and instructs him to lay on his back. "Do you want to just... get to it, or do you want me to take my time?"

"Take your time, please."

Dallon nods, and lays on his own back next to Brendon so he can lean over and kiss him slow and sweet. It's like that for a good bit, and Dallon's able to let his hands wander a bit before Brendon's pulling away slightly, whispering, "I want more."

Dallon nods, and sits up so he can sit between Brendon's legs on his own calves. He explains to him exactly _what_ he's going to do, _what's_ going to happen, and asks him if he's alright with all of it, getting a permissive nod and a quiet, "Yes."

Dallon takes a deep breath of his own, because believe it or not, he's nervous too. He lets his hands go from Brendon's knees, and up his thighs, rubbing his thumbs along the insides of them, biting his lip when he ends up with slick on either of his thumbs. He lets his gloved hand hover above Brendon's dick before he's tentatively taking hold of it, watching Brendon to make sure he didn't have to stop as he slowly starts stroking it. "How's that feel?"

Brendon's voice is raised a few octaves as he says, "Really, _really_ good. Holy shit." He ends up tearing up when Dallon stops right before he's about to come, whining.

"Shh, stop that. We haven't even started yet. You'll get to finish, trust me."

Brendon trusts Dallon, so he nods, not questioning him.

"This'll be easier if you're, uh, on your hands and knees, but if you don't want to, then that's totally fine."

"How will it be easier?"

Dallon flushes a little bit, which he didn't think was possible, given he's already pretty red. "You know how knotting works, right?"

"Not really," He admits, avoiding eye contact.

"That's alright. Okay, uh, knots form and like, keeps _it_ stuck in there, which basically ensures pregnancy since sperm isn't going to, like... come out, and it stays like that for between fifteen minutes to an hour. Just depends. It'd be easier to lay down afterward and rest. Also, it's why we have contraceptives and spermicidal lube."

"This is all so weird. Jesus."

"Sex is pretty weird, in and outside of heats-slash-ruts." Dallon shrugs a bit. "Are you gonna, like, get on your hands and knees, or not?"

Brendon doesn't answer him, but rolls onto his stomach, letting Dallon lift his hips up, whimpering slightly when he feels two fingers prodding at his hole, then sliding in with ease. "Is this necessary?"

"If I just stick it in and go I could hurt you. Just want to make sure you're going to be alright, okay?"

"Alright, I guess. It's still weird."

"How are you feeling?" Dallon thinks to ask.

"Kind of nervous but not as much."

"Gotcha. I still have your consent, right?"

"Yes, you do."

Brendon can easily take four of Dallon's fingers, which would usually be a feat, since Dallon's fingers are both long and not the thinnest ones alive. He lines his dick up, then speaks. "Are you _sure_ you want to do this? We're gonna hit a point to where there's no turning back, so if you're unsure, then now's the time to say something."

"No offense, but I don't think I've been more sure of something in my life, alright? I trust you, _a lot,_ so for the love of _God,_ get to it." Brendon wiggles his hips a little bit, and Dallon really doesn't need anymore prompting, since his cock is starting to get sore since he's been so hard for so long. Brendon lets out a high pitched and keening whine when the older one bottoms out.

Dallon runs his hand from between Brendon's shoulder blades, down his back, until it's resting on his ass, along with his other hand. Dallon resists every urge he has to fuck Brendon senseless, until the smaller male is begging for it, and Dallon _has_ to give in, needing the release, and craving the knot that's sure to follow.

Brendon comes a few times throughout the whole experience, and then he's moaning pretty loudly, and letting out a string of expletives at the feeling of _fullness_ he has as Dallon's cum is pretty much just filling him, and the way his cock is locked in place. Dallon's gentle as he's maneuvering their position to where they're spooning.

Brendon's obviously exhausted, letting out deep breaths, and holding onto Dallon's hands as if his life depends on it.

"How was that?" Dallon asks, a little warily.

"I don't have words for how awesome that is, and I'm wondering why I've been _scared."_

"You don't like messy things. Your hormones and pheromones are all weird right now, as are mine."

Brendon nods a bit. "Why'd you bite the side of my neck while we were doing it?"

"Jeez, I did that, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did."

"I'm embarrassed. Bonding. Like, okay, this is the only time you'll hear this leave my mouth, but it was an instinct thing."

"Can I bite you, then?"

"Whenever Dallon Junior decides he's done, you can."

***

_"You're not wearing your gloves, you've been gone for a week, and you have bite marks all over your neck. I need an explanation."_

Brendon shrugs in response to Tyler.

_"Don't shrug at me, mister. I want to know."_

_"We're in_ class, _you asshole. Ask me later."_

_"Class doesn't start for another half hour, and me, you, and the teacher are the only ones who know sign language in this room, and she's not here yet, so hop to, motherfucker."_

_"Went into heat the same week Dallon was in a rut. We fucked our brains out, I took, like, five hundred showers, and I'm having a good day so far today. I still have my gloves with me just in case, but this is the first time I haven't worn them in almost six years, so it's something."_

Tyler grins, genuinely. _"I'm proud of you, dude."_

_"Thank you, Tyler. Like, seriously. Not a lot of people say that to me. Like, Dallon does, and you do, but that's it."_

_"I'm always proud of you, man. Can I hug you?"_

_"I think, yeah. Go for it."_

Tyler wraps his arms around Brendon's shoulders, and hugs him, and manages to whisper, "Really proud."

Brendon _has_ to hug him back after that, since Tyler almost never tries to talk unless the situation really calls for it. He figures that this is really important to him, mostly since he _knows_ Tyler cares a great deal about him.

***

Brendon has an entire week of _bad_ days, and he means _bad._ Dallon tags along when he and his mom travel to Las Vegas for Thanksgiving, and gets to witness at least twenty panic attacks over the course of that week.

For one thing, he forgets his leather gloves and doesn't realize it until he's about ten minutes into the flight, so Dallon ends up making him wear a spare pair of his own that he had with him. They don't fit on Brendon's hands quite right, since Dallon's hands are fucking massive, and since his are small.

He ends up breaking down, after hearing at least three different people coughing, crying and smacking his palms against his forehead for most of the flight. He doesn't have any Lysol spay or Lysol wipes with him, or a face mask, one he only wears on special occasions. (For example, super bad days, or when there's a bug going around school.)

Dallon rubs his back, and ends up shouting, "Shut the fuck _up,"_ at Brendon's mother after one too many hissed _comments_ about him needing to grow up, which doesn't help, since Brendon _literally_ shoves him away, a fearful look on his face.

"Brendon, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell," He says, voice hushed.

Brendon allows him to put his hand on his back again, but that doesn't last long, since a flight attendant stops by their seats. Her face is sympathetic, and she looks as if she feels terrible as she says, "There's been a few complaints. Try to be quieter, or, if you need, first class just so happens to be empty, and there's more room to breathe up there."

Dallon gets Brendon to sit up, signing, _"What do you want? Try to be quiet or first class?"_

_"First class."_

"First class." The flight attendant nods, and Dallon walks behind Brendon with his hands on his shoulders, as if to lead him. The seats they get seated at are basically recliners, except slightly less comfortable, and you can't actually recline in them, but they're facing each other, and they're spacious enough to where Brendon's willing to sit in Dallon's lap while the man basically cradles him, shushing him once in a while and petting his hair.

When the flight attendant comes to check on them ten minutes later, Brendon's a little more calmed down, but not much, since he's still sobbing. Dallon looks up at her, back at Brendon, then up at her again. "I don't have a ton of money on me, but do you think I could get a bottle of water and a couple of alcohol swabs?"

She doesn't question him, just saying, "I'll see what I can do."

He gets the bottle of water and alcohol swabs, thankfully free of charge. Brendon has to sit up a little bit while Dallon uncaps the bottle and wipes the rim of it off with the alcohol swab, then wipes the rest of it down after unfolding the alcohol swab. "Drink some of the water. Not all at once. Just sips here an' there. Keeps you hydrated and it'll give you something to focus on."

After Brendon has half of the bottle of water down, he puts the cap back on, and hands it to Dallon, who places it in the cup rest next to the seat. "When we get to Vegas, do you want to stay with your dad like planned, or do you want me to splurge and get a hotel room for us to stay in?"

 _"I don't know,"_ he shakily signs back. _"What do you think?"_

"Not sure. I haven't met your dad before or been to his house."

_"He left my mom because of this stuff. He's still my dad, though, and I haven't seen him since I was, like, fourteen, and he doesn't know sign language, but he's going to try to hug me and I don't really even know him anymore, and I don't even know what I'm afraid of, but I just--"_

"Hotel room for now, alright? Stay there this evening and tonight, and ban your mom from the room, since she was kind of being a cunt earlier, and we can see how you feel in the morning. I'll see if I can rent a car or something, and I will invest in as many Lysol wipes and pairs of leather gloves as you want."

Brendon nods, trusting Dallon to take care of him. He's still crying, but he's not whimpering or sobbing anymore, at least not consistently. He's only able to stay in Dallon's lap for another ten minutes or so, since their flight is about to land.

 _"B, you're okay. Try to breathe, alright?"_ Dallon signs, since Brendon's panicking in the seat across from him, obviously not ready to be separated from Dallon in any capacity yet. They wait for a little bit before getting off of the flight, waiting for most everyone else to be cleared out. Dallon carries both of their carry on bags, and manages to wheel both of their suitcases along, and lets Brendon hold his hand while they walk through the airport. Brendon's mother tails them, and Dallon explains to her that he's going to look into renting a car, then he's going to get a hotel room to stay in for the week.

Dallon cringes about having to dip into whatever savings he has, and ends up calling his own mother, asking her to see if she can spare any money just in case. (She can, of course, and she's willing, especially after he explains what's going on, thankfully.)

***

 _"I'm such a big baby."_ Dallon catches Brendon signing that while they're at a stop light.

"You have OCD, an anxiety disorder, and haptephobia, and obviously traveling away from home is gonna be hard for you, since you haven't left Seattle since you were a kid. You're not a baby, and it's kind of my job to take care of you."

_"Not your job. Shouldn't be your job."_

"I'm protective," Dallon reasons.

_"I wish I wasn't like this. I wish I didn't depend on people and I wish I was normal."_

"But you are like that, whatever you mean, and you gotta do what you gotta do. You're working on it, and you're trying, so you need to give yourself credit for that. Anyways, dude, you've made a lot of progress, and a panic attack isn't going to fuck that up. I mean, okay, maybe a little, but you're going to be alright at some point. I believe in you."

***

Dallon doesn't cuddle with Brendon, at first, when they decide to go to bed, after Brendon's convinced himself that the hotel room is clean and that he's not going to get sick or die from sleeping in the bed. (Dallon also has to explain that they're required to wash the bedding, and that he chose a _nice_ hotel for a reason.)

He's almost asleep when Brendon's tugging on his arm, trying to pull him closer. It takes him about half a second to comply. He mumbles, "Love you," before actually trying to sleep, and he feels Brendon writing, _"U-2,"_ with his finger on his arm.

***

_"It's going to look weird if I'm wearing all this shit. My dad's going to say something and make fun of me for being a fucking freak."_

"For the thousandth time, Brendon, you aren't a _freak._ You have a problem that you're getting help for. If you need to wear all of that, then wear it. I'll defend you and chew out anyone who so much as even looks at you wrong."

_"Dad's an alpha, though. What if you butt heads with him?"_

"Then I'll win. I can take on an old man."

_"He's fifty something. Human lifespans, especially alphas, tend to be around one hundred and fifty. You're, like, twenty four."_

"So? I'm fast. I could, like, dodge him."

Brendon snorts. _"Quit being a goof."_

"I can't, man. Like I said, it's part of my charm.

***

Brendon's dad goes in for a hug the second he sees him, and Dallon ends up having to block him, shaking his head. Brendon's already had one panic attack that day after walking down a sidewalk to the parking garage the rental car was in, and Dallon really wants to avoid another one.

"What? I can't hug my own son?" He looks offended and Dallon groans, mentally.

"He's having a bad day. Probably not a good idea to hug him when he doesn't want you to."

He huffs but doesn't say anything, rather just motioning the two of them to follow him to the living room. Brendon's mother is sitting on the couch, legs crossed, reading a newspaper in a bathrobe while drinking her coffee. She looks up at Brendon, to his father, then back to Brendon, signing, _"Are you doing any better today?"_

_"A little bit."_

"Can we actually _speak?"_

Brendon rolls his eyes, and looks up to Dallon, signing, _"Tell him that, no, I can't fucking speak, and for him to get his head out of his ass and to quit being a fucking asshole."_

"Brendon said 'no,'" Dallon says, squinting down at his smaller boyfriend. _"I'm not telling him all that. I don't want him to kick my ass."_

_"What about all that talk about being able to take him on this morning, Mister?"_

_"Okay, listen, I'll fight him if it's necessary."_

"The two of you do realize I know sign language, right?" Brendon's mother cuts in, eyebrow raised.

_"I'm aware, but you don't have the gall to tell Dad I think he's a piece of shit."_

"True," She mumbles, taking a sip of her coffee and looking back down at the newspaper.

Brendon leaves the living room at some point, going through the entire house, taking all of the shoes and lining them up against the wall next to the door. That's the first thing he does. Dallon stands out of the way, watching, ready to cut him off if absolutely necessary. He gets a text while Brendon's meandering about the kitchen, wiping every surface with Lysol wipes, organizing spices and dishes.

 

 **Tyler:** how's brendon doing he quit answering texts yesterday morning and i worry

 **Dallon:** He's fine. He had a bad day yesterday and today isn't much better so far, and he won't touch his phone, because he dropped it and hasn't had a chance to clean it yet. He's cleaning his Dad's entire house right now and I'm trying to play the role of peacekeeper.

 **Tyler:** ok thank you for telling me :(

 **Tyler:** tell him im spiritually sending him non-invasive hugs

 **Dallon:** I'll do that when he's sitting down again.

 

"What the _hell_ is he doing?" Dallon hears Brendon's dad asking his ex-wife.

Brendon whips around, and signs, _"Tell him this place is disgusting. There's dust everywhere and he doesn't even have the spices organized or dishes in places that make sense, and that there were shoes everywhere."_

"Just let him clean," Dallon mumbles, poking his head back into the living room. "I'll tell him to stop if I have to."

"What, and he'll _listen_ to you?" The man whispers back to him.

"He might, he might not. Let me and his mom handle him, alright? You've been out of the picture for four years. I don't really think you get a right to ask questions, or the right to tell him what to do, especially if you're being an asshole about it."

***

A few more family members of Brendon's show up at some point, and after two unwanted hugs and an aunt filling in the stereotype of aunts by pinching his cheeks, he asks Dallon if they can leave, simply signing, _"I'm going to kill either someone or myself if I'm here any longer. Can we go back to the hotel or something?"_

Dallon just nods, and hands Brendon his jacket before telling his mom that they're ducking out.

Back at the hotel, Brendon takes his shoes off, placing them by the door just as he does at home, and curls up under the duvet that's on the bed in the room, pulling it tight around his small body. It's four in the afternoon or so, so Dallon's asking, "Can I touch you?" since he's wanting to get permission to run his fingers through Brendon's hair and to kiss him on the forehead.

When Brendon shakes his head, he just nods. "Alright. I'm going to go see if I can find anything for you to eat, since you haven't eaten today. Any requests?"

He makes a face as he sits up, and Dallon figures he tried grunting, given the way his throat moved. _"Smoothie, and, uh... Honestly, if it says 'vegan' on it and doesn't look disgusting and can be cooked in a microwave, then I'm good. Get plastic silverware and more alcohol swabs too."_

"Okay. I'll probably be back in an hour or so. Do you need anything before I leave?"

_"A hug but I don't want to be touched. Do you see my dilemma?"_

"Yes, and you're fine."

_"You should totally get me a bottle of water. I'd like that."_

"Coming right up," Dallon's saying as he heads towards the mini fridge in the room.

***

Brendon has one more meltdown at his father's house on Wednesday. Dallon, himself, isn't even sure about what set him off, just that he rushed out of the room they were in with the back of his hand over his mouth, eyes tearing up. Of course, he doesn't protest or say anything when he finds himself sitting on the bed in the guest room in the house with a lap full of sobbing eighteen year old with his face pressed into his (Dallon's) neck, breathing his scent in. Similar to on the plane, Dallon cradles him, holding him close to his chest, shushing him once in a while. Dallon isn't overly experienced with panic attacks, since he's never really had one before, but Brendon's given him a few pointers on how to help whenever he has one. (Mostly just, _"Do what I tell you to do if it happens, alright? I might want to be held, I might want to be left alone. I don't know.")_

They're there for an hour before Brendon's able to focus on signing.

"What happened, B?"

 _"I don't know. I really don't. There were just so many people in that room and people kept touching me even when I was trying to make it clear I didn't want to be touched, like, I literally clung to you and you did the thing where your face gets scary whenever someone comes near me, and there was that one person who kept coughing and not covering their mouth and then I kept catching whiffs of the roast that dad always fucking cooks for a full day for Thanksgiving, and I hate, hate,_ hate _meat, because it's disgusting and it makes me sick because I got food poisoning from a hamburger_ one time _when I was, like, ten--too much was happening and my body was like, 'hey, Brendon, you have to be really scared right now and you have to cry at your dad's house!'"_

Dallon almost doesn't catch what Brendon's saying, since his hands are moving so fast, and since he's shaking. He mouths along with parts of it, though, which helps a little bit. "Can I do anything to help?"

_"I just want to go home."_

"Alright. I'm--I'm sure I could make that happen tonight, if you wanted."

 _"Wait, really?"_ The look of immediate relief on his face lets Dallon know he did something right.

"Yeah, of course. I'll just--I'll see if I can use our tickets early or something. I'll figure it out."

_"Wait, fuck--what about Thanksgiving?"_

"We can celebrate it on our own, or, if you're up for it, we could go celebrate it with my mom...? I mean... if I'm not there, she's going to spend it alone, so it might be a nice surprise for her. She's super nice, too. I think you'd like her."

_"Would she be willing to eat vegan food?"_

"Totally."

Brendon nods and closes his eyes for a moment before changing the subject. _"I thought I was getting better."_

"You are, trust me. Given our current situation, I think you're doing really good, but I also think you tried to do too much too fast. Am I right or wrong?"

 _"I think you're right. I really thought I'd be okay, because since, like--since we, uh,_ you know, _since that one week I've been doing so,_ so _good, and I thought it'd last, but it obviously didn't. I fucking hate being like this. It's so frustrating."_

"You just have to keep working at it. Like I said, it won't happen overnight. And, hey, you're doing amazing right now, because when we first met I could barely shake your hand for more than a second, but look at where you are now."

***

Dallon drops by his mother's house, on his own, for a few hours, on Thanksgiving, since Brendon claimed he needed to have some alone time to, like, sleep, and to just decompress before Dallon came back and made him eat something.

 

 **Tyler:** how many times do i have to attempt speaking just to say 'i'm deaf' for distant relatives to leave me alone oh my fucking god i just want turkey and whatever lebanese shit dads family brought over

 **Brendon:** I feel that on a spiritual level. Except I'm haptephobic, not deaf.

 **Tyler:** how's it going anyways

 **Brendon:** I came home early lol

 **Brendon:** I had, like, ten panic attacks over the course of three days, so Dallon was like, "Yeah, this isn't working out."

 **Tyler:** :((( non invasive hug?

 **Brendon:** yes please :(

 **Brendon:** Aside from your family not understanding that you can't hear how's ur thanksgiving

 **Tyler:** idk im sitting in my bedroom eating right now

 **Tyler:** apparently my voice creeps the children out and also i got called retard a few times so i was like yeah no i deal with this shit at school im not dealing with it in my own home

 **Tyler:** i like how i cant read lips but retard is the one word i know tbh

 **Tyler:** honestly id ask josh to come get me but his parents live in fucking columbus!!! and he's visiting them!!!!! im not putting out for a month im salty >:(

 **Brendon:** If I could drive I would totally come get you

 **Tyler:** dallon can drive

 **Brendon:**...he can. and he isn't home right now.

 **Tyler:** am i really about to sneak out on thanksgiving

 **Brendon:** i think you are. I need some nonvocal support in my life. I love Dallon, I do, but noise is like... overwhelming.

 **Tyler:** can't relate #deaflife

 

Brendon grins at his phone a little bit, letting out a huff of laughter, then sends Dallon a text, asking him if he's willing to contribute to the delinquency of a minor by picking Tyler up and bringing him to hang out, then telling _him_ to text Tyler when he says sure.

 

 **Tyler:** dallon just. called my phone. and left a voicemail. VOICE mail.

 **Tyler:** [image attached]

 

_**Tyler:** _ _dude im deaf_

_**Dallon:** _ _It slipped my mind._

***

When Dallon comes back to his apartment, he arrives bearing Brendon's best friend, and the stuff to make a few vegan pizzas. He's a little touched by the fact that Tyler remembered to wear gloves, even though he feels as if he shouldn't be, since Tyler's, like, his best friend, and since he almost always remembers to do so whenever coming over to Brendon's home. (Or Dallon's.)

The three of them sit at the dining table, eating, and Tyler decides to start up a weird conversation. _"Why do betas exist? Like, what's their purpose, and what do they even do?"_

Brendon shrugs, and points his fork towards Dallon, meaning for him to try explaining, given he's the only one with medical experience in the room.

 _"Okay, in plain English... no one knows. In my personal opinion, I think betas are kind of obsolete, because they aren't nearly as fertile, and the only way they reproduce is through_ just _straight sex, plus their senses aren't nearly as heightened as alphas are, or omegas."_

 _"Aren't alphas, like, superhuman?"_ Tyler cocks a brow at Dallon.

_"Not really. I mean, I can tell you're probably going to go into heat within the next week or two, and I know that Brendon's on edge right now."_

_"Huh. You aren't wrong. How, though?"_

Dallon waves his fingers playfully before signing, _"Pheromones. That would've been funnier if I said it."_

_"I get what you mean. Anyways, like, they don't teach about all of the biological stuff in school basically, other than alphas are scary and omegas are submissive as hell, and that betas are in between."_

_"Actually, I wouldn't group alphas and omegas with betas. Betas are kind of like their own thing. Their senses aren't as sharp and they aren't as fertile or versatile as a species. Like, if there's a shortage of men or women within a group of betas, or, for example, in certain countries where Betas are the norm, like, if there's no men or women, they're going to die out. Sure, there's interspecies breeding or whatever, and betas are close enough in relation to us that whatever children betas have with alphas or omegas aren't going to be infertile, but, like..."_ Dallon sighs, and waves his hand around a bit, trying to find words.

_"I think what he's trying to say, and correct me if I'm wrong, Dallon, but like if there were a group of alphas and omegas that were all male, or all female, then they could reproduce. The only thing is that whatever children they had would be whichever sex their parents were. Like, if I ever happen to have a child with Dallon, it'd be male, since we're both male, and since there isn't a possibility of a girl popping out."_

_"Well, there is a possibility, but it's, like,_ really _rare that it happens. Also, the words alpha and omega and beta all refer to sex. Like, genitalia. Beta men and women have two sexes within their little subcategory, then alphas, generally, have the same stuff, and omegas have mostly the same stuff. You and Brendon are both..._ exceptions. _Like, you both know male omegas are really rare, right?"_

Tyler nods, as does Brendon, before Tyler signs, _"There's only one other one in our school. Most of the other boys are either a beta or an alpha._

_"Yeah, exactly. Are there any female alphas in your school?"_

Tyler shrugs, since he doesn't get around much, which leaves Brendon to think. _"I think there's, like... one or two, to be honest? Tyler, do you know Ashley? Like, Frangipane?"_

Tyler nods. _"Yeah! Her! She's one! Oh, Miss Black, too. I mean, she's not a student, but I know she's an alpha. She smells kind of how Josh and Dallon_ _d_ _o, but more feminine. She's so pretty."_ Tyler sighs, voice cracking a little bit, which is a thing that happens when he sighs sometimes. _"I wish she wasn't, like, almost thirty. I would so marry her."_

 _"Isn't Josh, like, forty?"_ Brendon bites his lip to keep from laughing when Tyler glares at him.

 _"He turned twenty one in June and I turn seventeen in December. Bite me. Also, he's_ really _smart, and he even has a college degree already, so don't start. No offense, Dallon, but, like, graduating from college at twenty is more impressive than at twenty two."_

 _"I have another six months of online classes before I'm an RN, so don't start, Tyler."_ Dallon wads up a napkin, and throws it at Tyler, who throws it back.

_"Stop throwing that."_

Tyler mouths, _'Sorry,'_ and Dallon gives him an apologetic look.

***

The Monday following Thanksgiving is the day after Tyler's birthday, and Brendon's expecting him to come walking into class, looking happy, and excited to fill Brendon in on the details of his birthday like he did last year, but he just walks in, looking dejected and in a pissy mood.

_"What's up, man?"_

_"Imagine having two adults yelling and screaming at you, then imagine not being able to hear or understand them in the slightest, but knowing they're really angry but not knowing why, imagine the fear you would feel, then imagine me, a small guy who is barely 5'4" and who weighs a hundred and twenty pounds, literally cowering in fear on the floor, trying to hide myself because, hey, I don't know what the fuck's going on, but there's an adult male who's about six and a half feet tall all red faced and scary looking and giving off angry pheromones, then my fucking mom, standing there looking disappointed but also extremely pissed off, and I can assume it's all because I snuck out on Thanksgiving!"_

Brendon frowns, and forces himself to tug Tyler into a hug.

"Didn't even... get a birthday." Tyler's the one who gently nudges Brendon away, wiping at his eyes before turning in his seat to face his friend. _"Josh gets back from Ohio this afternoon, so I'm totally going to go over to his place and get fucked and forget about my shit for a while."_

_"Isn't that illegal, since you're a minor and he's an adult...?"_

_"The laws don't count if you're sixteen or older and soul mates. Otherwise, yeah, it'd be illegal. I'm seventeen now, though, so I got another year before I'm free to fuck whoever I please."_

_"For a deaf guy, you get a lot of action."_

Tyler rolls his eyes, appreciating Brendon's bit of humor. _"It's whatever. Anyways, I'm grounded until fucking February, so I don't get Christmas or New Years either, and I can't leave the house unless I sneak out. I'm so tempted to just--to go live with Josh or something, but he says I should stay at home at least until I graduate next year. Did I tell you my parents aren't even planning to let me go to college, and if I do, they won't pay for it?"_

_"What the fuck? Why wouldn't they let you?"_

_"They're really traditional. Like, traditional enough to where they think omegas have to be trophy wives, and that they have to take care of all the household chores and pop out a litter every few years until they die off, and to where they think alphas have to be the ones who provide monetary support and control the damn household, and, basically, they're expecting me to be in an abusive relationship with Josh, but Josh already said that's not how things are going to work whenever I live with him. Like, he's gonna let me do whatever I want, and I wish my parents were like that."_

_"That's not cool, dude."_

_"What's your mom and dad like with that stuff? Distract me. Let me vicariously live through you."_

_"My dad's kind of like your parents, but my mom is really nice. You've met her, obviously. I mean, she's kind of traditional in her way of thinking, I guess, and she's half expecting me to suddenly get over my shit and just--have a bunch of kids, y'know? I can't even handle having sex with Dallon outside of heat-slash-rut. Like, we tried one time, but we didn't even get to take our clothes off before I had to tell him to stop. Like, if I can't handle that, then I'm definitely not ready for fucking kids. Mom was eighteen around the time I was born, meaning she's thirty six right now, and my dad was way,_ way _older than her, so you know how their relationship was. Young omega meets her older soulmate in... whenever I was born, ninety five, I think, they have a kid, and have some weird, codependent relationship that falls apart the second he learns that his kid is a 'freak' and that he's not a fucking alpha. Sorry, fuck. This isn't about me."_

_"I asked, dude. What do you think your future holds or whatever?"_

_"Realistically or what I like to tell myself?"_

_"Mm, realistically, for now. We can save the optimism for when I'm not hating everything."_

_"I think I'm probably not going to work, I don't think I'm going to go to college, I can't imagine ever being in a place to where I could actually get a job anyways, so, I don't know. I won't be able to handle having children, either, since they're messy, and if I did I couldn't just push all of that off onto Dallon. He's alright with, like providing monetary support in the future and what not, and I can tell he's honest about it, but I just... I don't know. I mean, I'd make the perfect 'housewife.' I'm_ really _clean, I'm good at cooking, apparently, since Dallon, literally, moans whenever he eats something that I cook, I'm also apparently great in bed, even though Dallon does all of the work, and... who knows. I want to go through on whatever bullshit pipe dreams I have, but I need to be realistic."_

_"I'm going to move out after I graduate, maybe sooner if I hit a breaking point, and I'm actually thinking about looking into compiling a book type thing with all of my poetry, see if it goes somewhere. If I wasn't deaf, I think I'd be a musician. Like, I read lyrics for songs a lot, and stuff I write looks like the things I see in song lyrics."_

_"Wasn't Beethoven deaf?"_

_"No. I mean, he was eventually, but he wasn't deaf until around the time he died."_

_"Oh. Well, shit. There goes my inspirational speech."_

_"I appreciate the sentiment. Did you know there's a surgery I could get that could potentially let me hear? I probably wouldn't be able to hear much, but I could hear loud noises, like car horns or--or really loud music, and there's a chance that it could work really well and I could hear on a normal level or whatever. Like, not normal, but I'd be able to hear voices."_

_"Why haven't you gotten it?"_ Brendon frowns.

_"My parents won't let me, saying it's too expensive, and that if they let me, then they'd have to let my little sister do it too, since she's also deaf. I'm also scared, though. I'm afraid that if I get the surgery it's going to fuck up whatever chance I had of hearing, or that it'd hurt or something. My doctors said that the way my ears work or whatever, that the surgery would probably be successful? I don't know exactly how they phrased it, but it's an opportunity that I'm not allowed to take, and it kind of hurts. Like, this shit--this shit has made my life really difficult since I was born, and I guess I'm used to it, but sometimes I wish I wasn't like this. I want to hear Josh's voice one day, though. Like I'm sure it's beautiful.”_

_“His voice is really deep and he has a bit of a lisp. I know, like, you don’t have any concept of sound but that’s what his voice sounds like.”_

_“How about mine?”_

_“Nasally and it cracks a lot because you don’t talk very often. Also, like, deaf people have this specific way that their voices sound. Like, as far as word pronunciation goes, so there’s that. I like your voice though. It’s nice.”_

_“What does your voice sound like? How would you describe it?”_

_“Deep, kinda, cracks a lot since I don’t talk that much either, uh… Also a little nasally sometimes… I don’t know, man.”_

_“That sounds nice. Hold your remarks.”_

_“I think you’re fine the way you are, by the way.”_

***

Brendon sits in the cafeteria during lunch that day, alone at the end of a table with Tyler. They sit in silence, not talking, since, one, Brendon’s mute and Tyler’s deaf, and, two, since Brendon’s been focused on scrubbing a can of soda with an alcohol swab for five minutes. He opens the can once he feels comfortable drinking from it, then gets to work on opening the tupperware container used to contain his not very glamorous vegan alternative to fettucine alfredo. He wipes his fork down with an alcohol swab before stabbing it into the dish and twisting.

When he looks up, he ends up having to move his hand in front of Tyler’s face to get his attention, signing, _“Close your mouth when you chew. It’s disgusting when you don’t.”_

_“Sorry, B.”_

Brendon shrugs, and starts eating his own meal. He all but jumps out of his skin when there’s hands slamming down on the table next to him. He looks up to see that it’s Spencer, who looks almost manic. Brendon sets his fork down for a second so he can reel back and sock Spencer in the arm. “Don’t scare me like that,” is all his voice will allow him to whisper at his friend.

Spencer sticks his tongue out at Brendon, and plops down next to him, being sure to put a good six inches between him and his friend. “I met my soulmate, guys.”

Brendon translates for Tyler, and Tyler does what he did when Brendon told him that he met Dallon. He flaps his hands around a little bit, and squeaks. _“What’s she like?”_

 _“Amazing,”_ he signs back with a dopey look on his face. Brendon translates for Spencer since he starts speaking instead of signing. “She’s so pretty and nice and we were up all night on Skype just _talking_ and, wow, I already love her. I’m so happy right now.”

Brendon smiles sweetly, to himself, mostly, and resumes eating while Tyler and Spencer talk to each other.

***

There’s four hours between the time Brendon usually gets home from school and the time his mother gets home from work. He’s sitting on the floor, directly in the center of his living room, elbows rested on his knees and his head in his hands, meditating almost, when she does get home.

He’s been like that for almost two hours, and his body aches from the lack of movement. When his mother asks, “Honey? Are you alright?” he moves a hand long enough to give her a thumbs up before returning his palm to his forehead.

Sometimes he needs to do this--to sit down and just shut off. Things get to be too much sometimes, as horribly emo as it sounds. His day wasn’t particularly rough, or, well, maybe it was, but compared to some of the other days he’s had, it was pretty tame.

The next time he’s drawn out of his thoughts, it’s due to a text message from Dallon, asking him to come over, since the older man is, apparently, lonely, and in need of human interaction with someone younger than seventy. And also since he’s still a little clingy after being separated from Brendon after spending almost an entire week together constantly.

***

“Can I hug you?”

Brendon has to think for a moment before he’s nodding, and holding his arms open. Dallon hugs him, and they both physically relax almost immediately. Brendon tries talking, but his voice gives out on him after, “It should,” and he sighs, since it means he has to end the hug so he can sign. _“It should be illegal for you to be able to make me feel calm like that.”_

_“Nah. If it was illegal, I’d die. I love it when you hug me. I really want to kiss you right now. Can I?”_

Brendon nods again, and tries his best not to smile into the kiss Dallon plants on his lips. It’s soft and gentle and full of affection and Brendon feels like his heart is about to burst out of his chest from how much it swells.

“We should probably go. I don’t think your mom would appreciate it if we started making out in front of your guys’ apartment.”

Brendon snorts and giggles silently. _“You’re right.”_

***

Brendon only spends fifteen minutes organizing Dallon’s apartment before he’s taking a shower, and before he’s heading towards Dallon’s room to steal his blanket for the night. He takes the blanket to the couch in the living room, and wraps himself in it. Dallon gives him a bit of a look, and asks, “Why do you always steal my favorite blankets?”

Brendon has to unwrap himself so he can sign. _“Because they smell like you and they make me feel safe.”_

“Why steal my blankets when you could cuddle with the real deal?”

Brendon rolls his eyes, and lifts the blanket up. _“Get over here, you goober.”_

A triumphant grin spreads across Dallon’s face as he’s scooting across the couch. Brendon ends up in his lap, head against Dallon’s chest, and Dallon’s gently running his fingers through the smaller male’s hair, trying not to grin too stupidly at how Brendon just melts into him. He pushes his boundaries a little bit and gives into the urge he has to kiss the top of Brendon’s head.

Brendon whispers, “Would it be weird if I fell asleep?” at some point.

“No. You can sleep on me all you want.”

He smiles slightly as he closes his eyes again and shifts his position. Still whispering, he says, “You smell really nice right now.”

“I try my best.”

***

Brendon hates assemblies. Part of why he hates them is because his teacher makes everyone partner up and _hold hands_ on the way to the gym. He can deal with that part, usually, because he always partners up with Tyler, and he trusts Tyler, but the part that he _can’t_ deal with is sitting with so many other people surrounding him. The special education class usually sits in the front row next to a wall, so it’s not _that_ bad, but he still flinches whenever a knee brushes his back.

Brendon ends up having to hold Tyler’s hand throughout the assembly just so he has something else to focus on. It’s a _pep_ assembly and he hates pep assemblies, because they’re too loud. There’s always loud music, then there’s people yelling and screaming, and almost everyone is up and moving around. Tyler does lighten Brendon’s mood a little bit by leaning over and managing to say, “If it makes you feel better, to me, it looks like everyone’s having epileptic seizures.”

He starts giggling, and spells out, _“I love you, man,”_ with his left hand.

Tyler grins a little bit and squeezes his hand.

The assembly lasts way too long, and Brendon’s barely managing to hold back from having a panic attack while Tyler’s being a good friend and gently leading him back towards their classroom. While they’re walking, they get separated from the rest of their class, which isn’t too big of a deal until Brendon hears someone saying, _“Knew those two were together. Fags.”_

He flinches and walks a little closer to Tyler. He gets a weird look, so he spells out, _“S-O-M-E 1 C-A-L-L-E-D U-S F-A-G-S.”_

_“I-G-N-O-R-E T-H-E-M.”_

***

Dallon takes Brendon on a casual lunch date during the weekend before the weekend before Christmas, mostly to just hang out. They eat a simple meal at a vegan restaurant that Brendon really likes, just chatting.

_“My mom wants to go back to Vegas for Christmas. The only problem is that neither me nor you are allowed to come, and there’s nothing I can do about it because I’m eighteen.”_

_“Why aren’t we allowed to come?”_ Dallon frowns, and chews a bite of his pasta a little more aggressively.

_“Mom wouldn’t tell me why, but I’m gonna assume that it’s because my father wasn’t too pleased with us after we left the day before Thanksgiving, and also since I kind of reorganized his whole house. I mean, that was a little over the top, and I do kinda feel bad, but… ugh. I haven’t spent any holidays without my mom ever, and I’m, like… not prepared, I guess. I’m a little dependent on people if you haven’t noticed.”_

_“Fuck them then. Spend Christmas with me and my mom.”_

_“Tyler too. He’s still grounded, and his parents aren’t letting him celebrate Christmas. Josh will probably tag along with Tyler since they’re practically connected at the hip. I wish life wasn’t so complicated. The ‘ugh’ of my mood has intensified.”_

_“Me, you, my mom, Tyler, and Josh can totally have a banging Christmas, man.”_

_“Can we spend some time alone together before we’re around everyone else?”_

_“Of course. Can I ask why, though?”_

_“Uh. I just… Christmas is one of those times that I wanna, like, have some quality bonding time with you. I also kind of want to try, like… having, uh…”_

_“Sex?”_ Dallon looks hopeful and suggestive and teasing and Brendon rolls his eyes.

 _“Yeah. Try being the key word, though. If I can’t handle it, then, like, the next almost guaranteed time I’d be willing is in January. That’s, uh, when I’m, uh, due for another heat.”_ Brendon scratches at his jaw a little bit and averts his gaze, breaking eye contact.

_“That’s cool, so long as you’re comfortable, man.”_

_“As usual, I’ll tell you to slow down if we gotta. Can I, uh, like, come over and stay with you while my mom is gone…? I’ve learned that I hate being alone.”_

_“Definitely. I’d love that.”_

Brendon grins a little shyly and holds his left hand across the table, as far as he can get it without straining himself, and Dallon holds it, smiling his own sweet, fond little smile.

***

The sex doesn’t end up happening, just like the last time they tried. They got to the making out part, and Dallon had went to slide his hand down Brendon’s pants, but forgot to ask, and Brendon grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand away, and that was that, honestly.

“Brendon, I’m sorry,” Dallon tries as Brendon sits up.

 _“I wasn’t expecting it,”_ he signs as he stands up. _“I need to shower.”_

“Are you mad at me?” Dallon looks dejected.

_“No, but you know to ask before you do shit like that.”_

***

Dallon changes into a revealing outfit. By revealing, he means that he changes into a turtleneck, jeans, and socks that go up to the middle of his calf, then leather gloves by the time Brendon is done showering.

Brendon walks back into Dallon’s living room, and before sitting down, he asks, “Are you sure you want to be with me?”

Dallon looks up and gives him a confused look. “Of course I am. Why is that even a question? Do you not want to be with _me?”_

_“I do, more than you can imagine. I just--we’re never going to have a normal life or relationship together. Like, I probably won’t be able to sleep in the same bed as you on a lot of nights, I can’t see myself ever willing to have children, I can’t have sex because I just start freaking out whenever we try—”_

“Brendon, you’re eighteen,” Dallon points out. “Sure, I like affection and I wouldn’t be averse to having children at some point, and sex is pretty awesome, but you’re more important to me than that stuff, okay? I don’t know about the future but I’m pretty confident you’ll learn how to cope. We’re both so young still.”

_“I want to be normal for you though. You deserve someone who’s going to be able to have a normal relationship with you.”_

Dallon holds his wrist up. “You see this? I spent almost twenty four years waiting to hear those words from you, and I’m not about to drop my _soulmate_ just because I can’t be a decent person. I _love_ you, _so_ much. You should want to be ‘normal’ for yourself. Not me.”

Dallon hauls himself up, and after being granted permission, he tugs Brendon into an embrace. Brendon whispers, “I hate this fucking _disease_. I wish I could just… not.”

“You’re gonna be alright one day. I promise.”

***

“What’s he doing?” Dallon’s mother whispers to him as they watch Brendon lining shoes up against one of the walls next to the door. That’s always what he starts with when he goes to someone’s house. Shoes.

“Just leave him be. He does this whenever he’s somewhere new. I’ll cut him off if I need to. He’s probably going to make the beds and organize everything and clean the bathrooms and the kitchen. That’s what he does.”

“Why weren’t you like this growing up?” She gives him a dirty look. It holds no water, of course.

“I don’t have crippling obsessive compulsive disorder,” Dallon deadpans.

“When would you cut him off?”

“Usually only when he starts getting upset and panicky or if he spends longer than an hour cleaning. He already knows this.”

***

Brendon stares at the scene on his probably future mother-in-law’s couch, envy rooting deep into his stomach. It seems stupid to him that he’s envious of Tyler and Josh, but, hey, he can’t help it. Tyler’s laying on top of Josh, looking all peaceful and relaxed, and Josh is doing the typical protective alpha thing, and Brendon is really jealous of the fact that they can just… _do that._

It’s not like he, himself, is incapable of laying like that with Dallon, but it’s more like he can _rarely_ do that. Well, not that rarely, but most times he ends up having to put at least five feet between himself and Dallon after half an hour.

Dallon walks around Brendon so he can get his attention without touching him, and so he can sign, _“Why are you staring at them like a creep?”_

_“Just me being stupid. Don’t worry about it.”_

_“It’s Christmas. Try to keep your chin up.”_

_“Can we go smoke on the patio?”_

_“Of course.”_

***

“Why’s there already an ashtray out here?” Brendon mumbles as he pulls a pack of cigarettes from the left pocket on his jacket.

“Mom smokes,” Dallon replies simply. It makes sense, of course. “Her and Dad both did. They had a thing where they’d sit on the patio in the evenings, and they’d smoke and talk about their day. One of those couple type things.”

“Were your parents, like… one of those typical healthy alpha-omega couples? Like--not the… y’know, the weird, codependent type ones. I mean, my dad acted like he was entitled to my mom, and like she belonged to him. Were they not like that?”

Dallon shakes his head as he’s being handed a cigarette. While Brendons lighting it for him, he responds. “No, never. My parents were never like that. There was a lot of love, trust, and respect in their relationship. My dad acted like my mom was the holiest thing alive, and I was raised to treat whoever I ended up with the same way.”

Brendon nods, taking a thoughtful drag from his cigarette. “I was raised not to expect to be anything more than some sort of… sex toy. Well, my dad tried to raise me like that at least. My mom is more…” Brendon waves one of his hands around vaguely for a second, before mimicking his mother’s accent to say “‘Do what you want.’”

“I hate that attitude that some alphas have,” Dallon grumbles with a frown. “I hate society in general. _American_ society. American society sucks.”

“Stickin’ it to the man. I like that about you, Dallon.” Brendon smirks and chuckles dryly. He agrees with Dallon, of course. He even tells him as much. “I don’t like how omegas are treated, I don’t like how disabled people are treated, I don’t like how minorities are treated--I just--It _sucks.”_

“We live in an alpha centric society. Like, if you’re an alpha, if you’re white, if you aren’t transgender, and if you’re a man, you’ve basically got it made.”

“What’s it like?” Brendon quirks a brow at Dallon as he slowly puffs smoke out of his mouth.

Dallon shrugs. “Unsettling when I actually think about it. Whenever we’re out somewhere together, like, whenever someone asks you something, they always look at me as if to ask for… for permission or something, and it’s… stupid. Like, you’re a person. I don’t own you.”

“Even my dad was doing it when we were there for, like, two days. I mean, he was still being kind of a dick, but he just… acted different.” Brendon flicks ashes into the ash tray.

“Hey, how does your mom deal with not being around your dad…? They’re soulmates, right?”

“They are. She says that even with as horrible as he is, she misses him every day he’s not there.”

“I can’t imagine how she deals with it. If I’m away from you for more than a week, I get this, like… this _feeling_ really deep in my gut. It feels like someone punched me and stole my kidney or something, and it kind of just… hurts. It’s one of those feelings that make me want to crawl into bed, curl up, and just sleep. Well, either that, or seek you out. Sleeping sounds less creepy.”

Brendon snorts and rolls his eyes. “You make me feel safe and that’s kind of a rare thing for me to feel, y’know? I can’t imagine not having that feeling at least once in awhile. How does _your_ mom deal with it? She can’t see your dad _ever.”_

"I don’t know. She doesn’t talk about it. He’s been dead for a little over a year now. I’ve tried imagining how it’d feel to _lose_ your mate, and the only, like, descriptive phrase I can come up with is that if you died or something, I would probably kill myself. I’m not even exaggerating.”

Brendon nods because he knows. He’s had nights where he’s contemplated what he’d do in certain situations, certain circumstances, and he tells Dallon that as far as the ‘losing your mate’ subject goes, they’re on the same page basically.

They settle into a comfortable silence while they smoke, until a question seems to pop into Dallon’s head. His voice is gentle and quiet, just as it always is, as he asks, “When’s your heat supposed to happen?”

“Next week or the week after.”

“Are we…?”

Brendon flushes red and nods as he breaks eye contact. “I’ve learned that I prefer to, uh, _go through_ that stuff with another person rather than on my own.”

“I like you better than I like my hand,” Dallon mumbles to himself before he’s snorting and giggling from his own response.

Brendon rolls his eyes.

***

“How’d you like Christmas?” Dallon mumbles to Brendon around two in the morning once they’re finally in Dallon’s apartment again.

Brendon has a hand resting politely on one of Dallon’s while they’re watching a TV show, squeezing the older man’s fingers once in awhile as some form of affection. “I liked it. Your mom is really nice. I like her.”

“I like her too. She’s a pretty kick ass mom.”

“It was probably the best Christmas I’ve ever had, mostly because you were there. I still hate holidays because there’s too many people, and too much going on, but it wasn’t that bad this year.”

“That’s good, that it wasn’t that bad this year. What are we doing for New Years?”

“Spending it alone. New Years is a stupid holiday and I don’t want to celebrate it with a ton of people. We’ve got a week to blow off until then anyways.”

“Well, I have to work tomorrow, and up until the thirty first, so _you’re_ going to have a week to blow off.”

“Why do you have to work this week? It’s Christmas, man.” Brendon pouts and gives Dallon a look that the older man, quite frankly, finds adorable.

“It gets hectic in assisted living centers around Christmas. Like, there’s a lot of old people who hang on for one last Christmas before kicking it, then there’s families in and out visiting the residents, and then there’s people who take time off from working. I’m getting hella overtime, so it’s not _too_ bad, though.”

“It’s always weird being in your apartment when you aren’t here,” Brendon muses quietly.

“What do you even do when I’m not here?” Dallon turns his head to look at Brendon, surprised to see that the younger of the two is giving him this fond and somewhat adoring little look. (Brendon always looks at him like that, but Dallon still gets this fluttery-can’t-speak feeling whenever he catches the look.)

“Do your dishes and laundry, watch Netflix, sleep… That’s about it, aside from my daily routine. I also do homework on the occasions that I’m here alone and I, y’know, have homework. Nothing too interesting.”

“Can I kiss you?” Dallon blurts.

Brendon’s eyes go wide and he sputters for a moment while he ponders the question before saying, “Just once.”

Dallon grins for a moment before moving the hand that Brendon had been sort-of holding so he can hold himself up while he leans over to kiss the smaller male deeply for a few seconds.

Brendon reaches up and pinches the collar of Dallon’s button up between his index finger and thumb, holding him in place. “One more.”

The next kiss lasts longer and Brendon reciprocates as best as he can and either of them are left giggling afterward.

***

 _“Can I touch you?”_ Tyler’s signing with a frown as he looks over at Brendon while they’re waiting for their teacher to arrive on the first day they’re at school again after winter break.

 _“I… guess? I’m feeling okay today, so I dunno.”_ Brendon shrugs, and he’ll admit it--he wasn’t the most alert or awake person in the world, but then Tyler’s reaching over with his right hand and rubbing his thumb across one of the scent glands in his neck, and Brendon’s eyes are widening and he’s glaring at Tyler, quickly signing, _“What the hell are you doing?”_

Tyler pulls his thumb away and sniffs it. _“You shouldn’t be here, Brendon. Why didn’t you stay home?”_

“It’s not supposed to be until next week,” Brendon mumbles softly in an incredulous tone. “Fuck.”

“Brendon? I am _deaf._ Sign to me.”

_“Sorry. I was talking to myself, mostly. I said it’s not supposed to be until next week. It’d explain why I can’t focus. What should I do?”_

_“Call your mom?”_

_“Can’t. She’s still in Vegas, at least until next Friday.”_

_“Dallon?”_

_“He’s working and also not my legal guardian…?”_

_“Well, for one thing, you’re eighteen, but for another, he’s your alpha. Text him or something. Think of this as a chance to get laid.”_

_“Walk with me to the office, asshole,”_ Brendon signs with an eyeroll as he stands up after carefully placing his pencil and eraser back into the pencil pouch on his binder.

***

 **Brendon:** I’m being sent home from school because of STUFF and I need a ride.

 **Dallon:** What stuff

 **Brendon:** Like. That _thing_ that’s supposed to happen _next week_ instead of _this week._

 **Dallon:** OH

 **Dallon:** Ok. I got sent home from work almost as soon as I arrived anyways. Conveniently.

***

“Why did you even go to school today?” Dallon mumbles as he’s unlocking his car, looking up and over his car a few times to make eye contact with Brendon.

_“I just thought I was tired from the holidays. Why’d you go to work?”_

“Same thing. Josh said I smelled all _feisty_ then he gave me _the look_ that he gives me whenever he hears an innuendo. Like, you know the look, right?”

Before Brendon’s about to bend down to get into the car, he nods. _“I’m around Tyler enough to know. He’s kind of a dork.”_

“Yeah, exactly,” Dallon’s replying with a grunt as he’s getting into the car. “Anyways, he said that, then made me go talk to the nurse that was there, and she shooed me out of the building and told me to come back whenever. Usually I just call in, but, similar to you, I thought I was just… _tired.”_

Brendon whispers his response, thanking god that his voice doesn’t crack more than once. (Dallon’s driving, or he’d sign.) “You, uh… have things at your apartment, right?”

“Same as last time,” Dallon assures him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?”

Brendon nods, cheeks red, and lets his gaze settle on the buildings that they’re passing, rather than Dallon’s face. “I’m sure. I just feel super sleepy right now, and I always sleep better at your apartment, so I dunno…” Brendon picks at a thread on his gloves. “Same as before? If I get uncomfortable we stop?”

“Of course, B.”

***

Dallon stares at the unconscious beauty that’s laying on him. Brendon’s dead asleep on Dallon’s chest, and Dallon’s heart swells whenever he looks down at Brendon. The younger male sleeping on him like this, especially during a heat, is, quite possibly, the biggest display of trust Dallon’s ever seen him do.

It’s late right now, and Dallon has his TV muted as to not disturb Brendon, who, seriously, looks so gorgeous in the light from the TV. His hair is messy, and his long eyelashes are resting oh-so prettily high on his cheeks, and his mouth is opened the tiniest bit as he snores.

Dallon spiritually snorts when Brendon shifts his position, scooting up, and he grins a little bit when he hears Brendon inhaling sharply. Brendon rarely ever blatantly sniffs him like that, and although he's out cold, Dallon still finds it sort of adorable.

Dallon's a little more obvious when he sniffs Brendon. He tries being subtle, he really does, but he has a tendency to get all up in Brendon's personal space, and Brendon always just... _squints_ at him, as if to ask, "What the hell are you doing?"

Dallon likes how Brendon smells right now specifically. Usually he just smells... like Brendon. He doesn't have a specific scent, aside from smelling clean, but that's a given. He smells oddly _sweet_ and _safe_ during heats, though, Dallon has noticed. If Dallon let himself, he could easily fall asleep, listening to Brendon's soft snores, his scent wafting into his nostrils once in a while.

***

When Brendon wakes up, he has the least desirable combination of feelings. He's cold, and he's horny. He doesn't move his hips, _at all,_ in fear of Dallon thinking he's weird, but he does wake the man up, only feeling slightly bad at the tiny whine Dallon gives him. "Cold," is all Brendon says as he, himself, whines, and attempts to burrow himself deeper into Dallon's chest.

"Do you want me to get blankets...?" Dallon asks around a yawn.

Brendon whines out a pathetic, "No," as he adjusts his position, this time hopefully making it obvious that he's rock solid. "Is it normal for it to _hurt?"_

"If you've been hard for long enough, yeah," he mumbles. "Do you, uh... want help...?"

Brendon nods meekly, rutting his hips against Dallon's thigh. "Please."

Dallon tries getting up, but Brendon doesn't budge. "Honey, you need to move so I can get up."

"I don't want to, and also, did you just... did you just call me _honey?"_ Brendon lifts his head up to give Dallon a _look._

His cheeks are flushed and his pupils are dilated enough to where, if Dallon didn't even know any better, he wouldn't know Brendon's eyes are brown. "It was a slip, and if you don't get up, I'm going to just carry you."

Brendon makes a 'hmph' noise, and Dallon just says, "Alright then," before he sits up, holding onto Brendon so he doesn't fall over, and then he stands up, holding onto the younger man's thighs as to avoid dropping him. "I'm serious. I'm carrying you."

Brendon makes a noise, not a startled one, but just a quiet little noise of acknowledgment, as he throws his arms over Dallon's shoulders, holding on tight. "You're not gonna drop me, are you?"

"I wouldn't even think about it."

"Good." Brendon yawns quietly and lets his eyes droop closed as Dallon carries him through the apartment. It's not a very long walk from the living room to the bedroom. In fact, it takes less than a minute. Brendon gets up when Dallon lays him down on the bed, mumbling something about both of them needing to brush, floss, and use mouthwash.


End file.
